A Game of Chess
by Bowles
Summary: There were once three champions: the mastermind, the rebel, and the spirit. Yet they didn't know that they, like all beings, were just pawns in the greatest game ever played. [Written before Book 3]
1. A Thing Called Murder

Well, I'm finally writing a long Bartiamaeus fic. Not a one-shot, surprisingly. That isn't to say that I don't have a few more of those planned. I'm always thinking of one-shots. I love them. So fun to write...

Anyway, this fic is an idea that's been accumulating for a while, and now I've finally put it into words. I hope you like it! This chapter's pretty CSI-ish, so that might gross some people out. I dunno. But even if you don't like it, please review and help me make it better!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own The Bartimaeus Trilogy, although I do own the plot and any original characters in this fic, dammit!

**Chapter One  
**A Thing Called Murder

"**_In films murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man". - Alfred Hitchcock_**

Nathaniel sighed and ran his hand through his hair. This new… Resistance, if you could call them that, was quite an annoyance. Unlike the last group, they appeared to be organized, and had an idea about what they were doing. Their attacks were unpredictable, and always different. Whoever was leading them obviously was much more intelligent and learned than old Pennyfeather and his lot.

Sorting through his papers, he allowed himself a slight smile. Even if there were such annoying terrorist factions frolicking about the streets of the noble city of London, he had to be very pleased with himself. Two steady years as Internal Affairs Minister, and not one bad spot on his record. Not one. Well, except for this new nuisance. But rest assured, they would be dealt with quickly and cleanly, and in a while everything would be all right, and the English government could focus their full energies on the American campaign, as if the Resistance had never existed.

That reminded him. The American campaign. Ugh, those damn Yankees were getting on his nerves. Every time he achieved a victory on the home front, such as capturing the famous Czech spy Romanas Zebure, the rebels in the Americas scored a victory, or had another tea party, or some other ridiculous extravagance of the sort. It was very difficult to gain any acclaim when those bumbling idiots in charge of the army messed up again, stealing his thunder unintentionally. He'd never thought such stupid magicians would come to be some of his greatest adversaries, unknowingly, of course. No matter. As soon as he crushed the Resistance like a fly under the palm of his hand, he would coax Devereaux into giving _him_ control of the army. That would put those Americans in their proper place.

Sighing, he took a sip of tea and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Tonight, he would go to bed early. After a full week with no more than five hours of sleep a day, he was beginning to get awfully tired. Rather irritating, to tell the truth. Someday, he would concoct a spell to wash away sleepiness. But today, he was busy, so it would have to wait for a while.

"Sir?" It was Ffoukes. Since the Duvall incident, he had been promoted (how, Nathaniel didn't know) to the top Assistant of the Internal Affairs Minister, the spot Nathaniel had previously occupied. He looked up wearily.

"Yes, Ffoukes?"

"Sir, there's been an attack," said the older magician. Nathaniel sighed. "A magician was murdered outside a library."

"Very well. Tell my chauffeur the precise location and I shall be off," replied Nathaniel tiredly. The assistant nodded.

"Of course, sir," he said, nodding respectfully and leaving the room. Nathaniel yawned, stood up, and grabbed his coat from the hangar, draping it over his suit, which was considerably more loose than the one he had been wearing two years before. He nearly snorted when he thought of himself in that ridiculously tight suit. Honestly. What horrible taste he'd had. It was astonishing to him that he was, in fact, the same individual who had worn that tight suit.

Putting a stylish Italian hat over his hair, which was shorter now and, in his mind, quite sexier, too, he strolled out of his office and after his assistant.

The hustle and bustle of Whitehall had come to grow on him even more over the years, and now he began to feel lonely at home when telephones, the clicking of calculators, and bosses yelling at their underlings could not be heard. There was something to be said about the atmosphere of a government building, and, walking through the establishment of the Empire he was currently in, he fully appreciated that. He loved his job.

Stepping out into the clear fall air, he descended the steps quickly, approaching his limousine, which had been parked conveniently directly outside his office. Stepping in and sitting down in a dignified manner, he leaned back, staring out the tinted window.

"To the crime scene, James," he said. The chauffeur nodded, and the luxury car began to creep forward, pushing through the London traffic.

Finally, after much too long for Nathaniel's tastes, they arrived at the scene. The library was a prominent one- he himself had visited it quite a few times- and many magicians were known to stop by. He sighed, stepping out of the car, and approaching the crowd of people, knit in a tight circle around a piece of ground.

"Step aside, please," he ordered, motioning for them to part. They did, although reluctantly so, and he stepped forward, pulling on two latex gloves and kneeling to the ground.

The victim was a middle-aged portly man, wearing dark, trendy trousers and a long, willowy cloak. His mouth was open in a horrified manner, and dried blood caked it. Nathaniel shook his head. This was definitely not pretty.

It was then that he noticed a few drops of liquid on the ground beside the victim, and, curious, he pulled out a cue tip from a plastic container, dipping it into the foreign substance and studying it carefully. It was an odd mixture of colors, closest to an auburn; sighing, he placed it back in its container, sticking it in his pocket.

His attention was then caught by a speck of brown on the gray asphalt surface. Crawling over to the speck, he squinted his eyes, picking it up. It looked like a piece of wood, festively carved. He pulled out a plastic bag and placed it within it before pulling out the container with the cue tip in it and turning to Ffoukes.

"Get these to the lab," he said. Ffoukes nodded.

"Yes, sir," he replied dutifully before turning and heading off down the street.

Nathaniel poked and prodded the dead body for a few more minutes before sending it, too, to the lab. As he watched the body be carried away, he sighed. Murder really was a messy thing.

-

Nathaniel strolled through the crime lab impatiently, swinging open the door to the office of the resident scientist. Morris Fischer was looking into a microscope, not even acknowledging that he had heard Nathaniel enter the room.

"Any luck?" Nathaniel asked. Morris looked up.

"Oh, hi, John," he said cheerily. Walking over to a computer behind him, he held up a plastic container. "_This_ is the mystery substance found at the scene and _this_-" he held up the small wooden structure in his left hand "-is our mystery carving."

"Again, any luck?" Morris smirked back at Nathaniel.

"What do you think?" he replied knowingly. Nathaniel smiled hopefully.

"That you identified what both of our pieces of evidence were," he said. Morris shook his head and grinned.

"John, you know me too well," he sighed. With a small chuckle, he turned to the computer screen. "Well, our mystery substance was actually_ three _mystery substances. One consisted of potassium benzoate. Any guesses?"

Nathaniel looked at the ground thoughtfully.

"Isn't that a preservative?" he inquired. Morris nodded.

"Yep," he replied. Smiling, he shook his head. "Fine, John, I'll give you a few more and let you try again. That same one consisted of aspartame, caffeine, and caramel color, making it the dark brown shade it is."

"Still don't know," said Nathaniel, shaking his head.

"Okay, it also had high fructose corn syrup…"

Nathaniel thought quickly, putting the ingredients together.

"Sounds like something edible," he remarked. Morris grinned and turned back to the monitor again.

"And for one last major ingredient, carbonated water," he read from the screen. Nathaniel's eyes grew wide.

"A soda?" he said quizzically. Morris nodded.

"Bingo." He walked over to the microscope, tapping it lightly and leaning against the table on which it rested. "Now guess what gave it the red tint."

It didn't take Nathaniel long to figure that one out.

"Blood, of course," he answered sensibly. "What else could it be?"

"You are correct again, Mr. Mandrake," said Morris in a deep, television show host voice. "Now would you like to try for a million pounds?"

Nathaniel shrugged.

"Any clues?" he asked. Morris smiled.

"Afraid not," he said apologetically.

Nathaniel began to rack his brain for a second before shaking his head, deciding there was no point. "Oh, well, just tell me, I guess."

"Ah, that's too bad," commented Morris wryly, jeering at Nathaniel, enjoying his brief superiority. "It was saliva. Spit, to put it simply. There were two separate DNA strands, too, and I already checked; one of them belongs to the victim, Samuel Ross."

He was met by an indignant frown from Nathaniel.

"I know what saliva is, thank you very much," he snapped irritably. Morris shrugged back in response and he sighed. "So, are you saying our suspect was drinking a soda before or during their murder of the victim?"

"Yup, they even left enough for a DNA sample," said Morris simply. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that's a bit disturbing, and lucky, too," he muttered darkly. Adjusting the cuffs of his suit, he straightened up. "Well, I guess I'd better be down to the morgue. No doubt Kellington's got a full report waiting."

Morris chuckled.

"To be honest, I don't envy you," he called after Nathaniel as he walked out of the room. "Have fun!"

Nathaniel looked back skeptically as he threw open the door.

"Don't worry, I will," he said sarcastically. Nervously, he buttoned one of the buttons of his long coat. Trips to the morgue never completely suited him very well. It was always so… gross.

Nevertheless, Nathaniel entered the morgue no more than three minutes later, navigating the darkness of the cellar-like room until he approached a table. A body lay on the table, and a man stood over the body, scissors in hand.

"Have you cut him up yet?" he quizzed. Kellington sneered dryly.

"No need to," he responded bluntly. "It's clear: he was suffocated."

"Strangled?" Nathaniel stepped up to the table.

"Not quite," said Kellington, tilting up the head of the body. "Look, no marks."

Nathaniel looked at the body doubtfully.

"But that still doesn't explain the blood coming from the mouth," he said, bemused. Kellington sighed.

"Yes, but this does," he replied, opening the mouth and pointing a small flashlight back into it. "There's a circular cut in the back of his throat, where the tonsils used to be. It's not too clear, though; it looks like he twitched quite a bit, if you get my saying."

Comprehending the facts before him with unmatched speed, Nathaniel smirked.

"Would you say that circular cut is about the same size as the opening of a soda bottle?"

Kellington shrugged.

"Yeah, it looks around the same shape and size," he said. Peering at it through the mouth of the victim, he smiled. "Actually, I'd say I'm certain."

Nathaniel nodded.

"So, a soda bottle was stuck down his throat, making him bleed, and he was alive while it happened. Is that all we've got?"

"I think it's safe to say he was suffocated to death using the soda bottle, judging by the fact that there was no damage to the throat besides the cut," stated Kellington, cutting the victim's skin down the middle in the torso. Looking at his insides, he nodded. "And look, he's got some blood in his lungs."

"Is it possible he died from the blood getting into his lungs?" Kellington shook his head.

"No, it would have taken a bit for that to happen," he said. "He would have suffocated by the time it trickled down the windpipe, anyway. Say, how was your body found?"

Nathaniel looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember the crime scene.

"He was lain on the stairs leading to the library," recalled Nathaniel. "Can we establish a time of death?"

"Yes, I think," said the mortician. He studied the body carefully. "Him being tilted against the stairs would have meant that the blood could have seeped down his throat and gotten into his lungs. The blood in his lungs isn't hard, yet; it will be in a few minutes, no doubt. So we can say that the murder probably happened early this morning, when it was still dark out."

Nathaniel grinned.

"Kellington, you're a genius," he said happily, patting him on the back.

"I know, John. I know."

-

"Hey, John, guess what?"

"What?" rescinded Nathaniel, still feeling happy about the large amount of information they had received so far in the investigation.

"That piece of wood we found, I traced it back to its shop of origin," Morris stated, holding up the small carving. "It turns out, the Grimons' Store of Fine Arts and Crafts advertises their entire catalogue every year on the _Times _web site. And wouldn't you know it, this just happened to be Item 34H, or the top part of a bedpost made from Italian wood."

Nathaniel nodded, examining the wood, gloves still on.

"What quality is the bedpost?" he inquired. Morris looked back to the computer screen.

"It's of average quality, made for commoners mostly," he said. "I guess the decoration on top is just to make it look expensive. Anyway, did Kellington establish a cause of death or time period?"

"Of course, it's Kellington," he replied casually. Noticing Morris's inquisitive look, he continued. "Sometime, early this morning, our victim- what's his name, again?"

"Samuel Ross."

"Yes, our victim, Mister Samuel Ross, was attacked, subdued, and a soda bottle was stuffed down his throat, suffocating him and cutting the back of his throat, near the tonsils, in the process."

Morris stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"So, basically, this is our crime so far: Ross is attacked, he struggles, the soda bottle is stuffed down his throat, slitting the skin, the mixture of blood, soda, and saliva falls to the ground, Ross is subdued, laid back on the steps, and suffocated."

"Where did Ross work?" Nathaniel asked. Morris glanced at a sheet of paper.

"All it says here is that he was a businessman," he said. "Middle to upper class, too, judging by these tax reports."

Nathaniel shook his head. It just didn't make sense.

"If he was an able magician, then why didn't he summon a demon to defend him?" he wondered. Morris shrugged.

"Dunno, shock?"

"No, it says here he'd been attacked once before, although he summoned an imp to fight away his assailant," Nathaniel said, walking next to Morris and reading off the sheet. He bit his lip and tugged at his coat nervously. "If he's survived an attack before, then why didn't he summon an imp this time?"

"Well, actually, there were traces of magic at the scene," stated Morris. Nathaniel whipped around.

"What?"

"Yeah, and using that new technology system we just got- you know, the one from that company in Madrid- it traces it back to an imp, one who goes by the name of Regulus. And the magic matched Ross, suggesting the imp had been in his employ."

"Had been?" Nathaniel asked, bewildered.

"Yup. From the traces of magic we got, it looks like ol' Regulus bit the dust, too."

Nathaniel ran his hand through his hair worriedly. This was not good.

"Any other bits of magic lying around?" he asked. Morris shook.

"Nope, none at all. The body was found by a commoner, and then it was promptly blocked off," he said. Nathaniel frowned. This wasn't right.

Then, it hit him. It all fit into place, like pieces to a puzzle. Smirking, he glanced at Morris.

"Tell Ffoukes I need to talk with him when you next see him," ordered the young magician, sweeping his coat behind him dramatically and walking towards the door. "He needs to label this as an attack by the Resistance. Oh, we've got them this time. This time, they won't get away."

**-To Be Continued-**

**Author's Notes: **I really like this chapter because, mainly, I love CSI and this chapter was inspired by that show. Grissom is just so kick-ass. Anyway, Morris was a bit of a joy to write; I really like his sarcasm. But really, it only matters what you like. Tell me how to get better, please! Review! I want to get better, and I need your help!

**Next Chapter: **In _Ignorance Isn't Bliss_, Kitty confronts the murderer and things get a little tense at the headquarters of the Resistance. Spies are sent after Mandrake, and Kitty eavesdrops on two friends of the victim. All of this leads to one final surprise...


	2. Ignorance Isn't Bliss

Here it is, good ol' Chapter Two. I haven't been able to get to a computer for a while, so this one took a bit, and I'm also working on another fic (not in this category, though). But it's finally here, like it or not. And so, without furthur delay, I present Chapter Two:_Ignorance Isn't Bliss_.

**Disclaimer: **Do I look rich? Do I look like I own this? Do you need to keep bugging me about this? 'Cause all I own is the plot and my original characters. All the other stuff belongs to someone else. Go bug them.

**Chapter Two  
**Ignorance Isn't Bliss

**_"Oh, look what you've done,  
_**_**You've made a fool of everyone.  
**__**Oh, well, it seemed like such fun,  
**__**Until you lose what you had won."**_

_**-Jet's **"Look What You've Done"_

"You WHAT?"

Dylan's grin faded a bit, but he kept his posture upright and proud with startling determination.

"You heard me," he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together. His eyes shone in the dank light of the cellar. "I pounced on the little bugger, and then I took care of him."

Kitty glared at him, gritting her teeth.

"Why?" she asked, exasperated. Her shoulders sagged tiredly. "Why on earth would you kill a magician, and then, if it weren't already horrible, leave his body right there where any idiot could find it? You are such an _imbecile_!"

"Why?" Dylan replied icily, voice filled with malice. "Why, you ask? Because I wanted them to know that we're here, I wanted them to know that we're watching their every move. I wanted them to fear us. Right now, we're just a nagging flea to them, something they can swipe away in an instant."

"So why would you change that?" Kitty exclaimed, tucking her hair behind her head nervously. Dylan made no response. "Why would you let them know what we could do? This is exactly what I was talking about when I said you were overeager! We need to bide our time until we have enough strength to rebel! We need to wait until they're so stretched that it's a fair fight!"

Dylan shook his head.

"I don't get you," he spat angrily. "I mean, I thought we were in this to overthrow those damn magicians, not just pester them! But, for some reason, you're too scared to take a risk! It's not like they're super-geniuses, or anything. They're idiotic magicians! We can fight them!"

"No, Dylan, we can't!" Kitty shouted. The others watched on in uneasy silence. "How many times do I have to say it before it penetrates that thick skull of yours? You can not underestimate them! The last Resistance did, and that's what led most of us to our deaths! No doubt Mandrake'll be on this, too. Damn it, Dylan! What the hell were you thinking?"

He shook his head again and turned around with a huff, kicking a chair angrily.

"I've had it with this load of useless junk!" he growled, walking towards the door. No one made a move to stop him. "I'd be better off on my own."

"Fine, go off on your own, let's see how long you last," said Kitty, regaining her composure and sitting down at the table. "I give you two, three days tops until they find you and bring you to the Tower. They'll probably have found some way to trace it back to the shop you work at. Then, it's just a matter of time. You've descended to their level; now they'll go even lower. They'll torture you until they get what they want, and the Resistance will be crushed."

Dylan hesitated at the door, and Kitty sighed.

"Come back in here, you oaf," she ordered calmly. Grudgingly, he turned around and plopped down onto the ground. She looked him in the eye and set her face as she thought a leader would. "This is what you're going to do: you're not going to show up at work for the next week. If they come calling to the shop, we'll know. Ernie can keep watch over it. If they do visit the shop, you're off to Russia, no questions asked, at least until we can think of an alternative."

"Got it," he said quietly. Kitty smiled.

"Don't worry, it'll all be okay," she consoled him, patting his shoulder. "It always is, right? I haven't led you wrong yet."

He smiled a bit.

"I guess not," he agreed. She nodded, satisfied, and looked at everyone else in the room. "Besides that, any unusual activity?"

A young woman named Clarice raised her hand.

"It seems that, from what we've heard, that young Mr. Mandrake has directed his full attention towards us, even without the murder," she stated. Smirking, she continued. "And it seems his assistant wants to impress him, or possibly even his superiors. He's been dabbling around in the black market lately, buying a few trinkets of interest. I sensed them on him and did some research. He's also bought an advanced book of summoning from Hyrnek's; no doubt he's going to summon something powerful, or at least try to."

Kitty stared at the ground thoughtfully before speaking again.

"Could you keep an eye on him?" she asked. Clarice nodded.

"Of course, no problem."

"Good," said Kitty, turning to a young teenager to her left. "Jack, you go with her. Keep an eye out for the spirit he summons and give us any information you can about it."

"Got it, boss," Jack saluted her with a goofy grin. She rolled her eyes.

_At least he's enthusiastic_, she thought to herself.

"What about me, Kitty?" a middle-aged man piped up from a corner of the room. Kitty stroked her hand through her hair, concentrating deeply. "I've been trying to follow Mandrake, but the little bugger seems to have spheres or a nexus around him. I can't do shit when I'm blind."

"Fine, Glen, take Joel with you," she sighed wearily. "Yasmin, keep an eye on the shop. See if any magicians enter it and follow them in for information. Katherine, Thomas; both of you need to continue recruiting. You've done a good job with it so far. Keep an eye out for spirits and agents, though."

The girl named Katherine, only a little younger than Kitty, grinned. "We're always careful, Kitty. After all, we don't want to wind up floating down the Thames."

"Good, good," Kitty said. The only one that hadn't been addressed was a man that looked to be in his twenties. "Elliot, you and I will gather information, as always. Keep an ear open, too. The magicians will be talking about it."

He nodded obediently and Kitty smiled in spite of herself. All in all, this had been a productive meeting, even with Dylan's… problem.

Clapping her hands, she looked out at the team cheerfully.

"Well, then, let's get to work!"

-

Kitty labeled the books carefully and slowly, sure not to make a single mistake. After what had happened two weeks ago, old MacGregor would fire her in an instant if she messed up again. She was on probation, and she could not afford to lose this job. It was too important to the Resistance.

The busy-work of a library assistant got to her sometimes, and she occasionally wished that she was back with Stanley (yes, Stanley: he was annoying, but anything was better than this clerical work) and Fred, on a mission, searching for their target. But every time she found herself desiring such a thing, she firmly planted the image of the dead bodies of her former Resistance colleagues into her mind. She couldn't have a lapse of concentration now.

"So, did you hear about ol' Ross kicking the bucket?"

Kitty's ears perked up. No doubt that was the magician Dylan had killed. Silently, she crept from her position in the aisle to a position further down the row where the voices were coming from. She made a small separation in the books and pressed her ear against the shelf. The men talking were in the aisle next to her.

"Yeah, that's a shame. I did some good business with him."

Good. These men obviously knew the magician; maybe she could get some information from this.

"Yep, Ross was a good man, bless his soul."

It took all of Kitty's self control to keep from snorting at this remark. No matter who they were, she doubted that any magicians were good men. They were all corrupt and greedy for power. It wasn't just an opinion, it was a fact.

"Some say it was a _commoner_ that killed him." The man said "commoner" with particular disgust and loathing.

"No way! Really?"

"Really. I've got some sources on the inside- some reliable sources, mind you, not those little children you pay to spy on people- and they say that Mandrake suspects the Resistance."

Kitty's breath caught in her throat. Mandrake suspected them. This was definitely not good.

"Oh, Mandrake's on the case? Well, no worries, then. Ross'll rest in peace yet."

"Yep, Mandrake's a brilliant little bloke. At the office, we've got a pool going on who'll succeed Devereaux. Mandrake's the favorite at four to one."

The other voice laughed.

"Yeah, we can relax. Mandrake's good, damn good. He'll crush the Resistance like flies in no time."

"Yeah." The man speaking chuckled. "They'll be crushed, alright. The only question is if Mandrake'll slowly pick them apart before taking care of 'em."

Kitty did not feel easy until the voices had walked away, and the sounds of their conversation could be heard no more.

-

Kitty returned to her flat in a downcast mood, and the rain pouring outside did nothing to raise her spirits. Throwing her coat onto the hanger next to the door, she flopped down onto the sofa, grabbing the remote and turning on the television monotonously. She needed something to take her mind off the growing presence of John Mandrake. He was getting rather annoying.

Bored with the evening programs, she dragged herself into the kitchen, grabbing cooking materials from the cabinets and putting a pot over the stove. As if on autopilot, she began to prepare her dinner, all whilst her thoughts were pre-occupied with something else.

How had Mandrake deduced that they had done it? Dylan hadn't left a business card at the scene, after all. (If he had, Kitty would make sure to it that she wrung his neck before the government could get to him. They didn't even have business cards.)

Most likely, it had been a lucky guess. When in doubt, blame the Resistance. And it wasn't like they were a secret organization or anything. Everyone knew about them from the first Resistance, and when small attacks or thefts occurred, everyone knew it was the Resistance. This was no different, she supposed. After all, they were the usual suspects. But they hadn't ever murdered anybody. _Ever_. Until now, that is.

The ringing of the telephone broke into her thoughts. With a dejected look at the mess that would be her dinner, she sighed, hurrying over to it and picking it off of the receiver.

"Hello, Margaret Johnson speaking."

After her encounter with Mandrake, Kitty had been forced to adopt an entirely new identity. Margaret Johnson (what a horrid name) was her alias, and she'd had to take other preventive measures, such as wearing different colored contacts and dying her hair, changing the style in the process. Johnson was close enough to her last name that she remembered it easily, and she had gotten used to the name Margaret, although she didn't particularly like it. But hey, she could take it up with Mrs. Hyrnek if she ever saw her again. It was always good to be prepared.

"Hey, Kitty?"

"Not on the phone, you dolt!" Kitty hissed into the telephone. She shook her head. "What is it, Yasmin? It'd better be urgent, I'm about to have dinner."

"It is!" Yasmin exclaimed from the other end of the line. Kitty's eyebrows furrowed worriedly. Yasmin sounded desperate. "It's the magicians! They went into the shop, and I followed them in, like you told me to. I watched them ask the manager for the list of employees, and he gave it to them, and then they went into the back, to interview the workers, I think. They mumbled a bit there. And then they came back out and asked if any employees had been missing and he gave them Dylan's name! And then, to make things even worse, he gave them plenty of background information on him. Oh, we're in deep trouble, Kitty!"

Kitty bit her lip. This wasn't good at all.

"Alright, just remain calm-"

"Remain calm!" Yasmin squeaked. "Easy for you to say! You're not the one putting your life on the line following those blasted magicians! They're going to find us, Kitty, I know it. Oh, damn that ignorant boy! I'll kill him, I swear I will-"

"Okay, forget what I said about remaining calm," Kitty said hastily. "Just calm down a bit, okay? Take a few deep breaths or something, I don't know. Do some yoga or pray, whatever floats your boat. Tell everyone to meet at the cellar. Got it?"

Yasmin took in a deep breath at the other end.

"Okay, got it. I am going to kill him, though! That little twerp! Dylan should burn in hell, I'm telling you!"

-

Kitty stepped down the wet stairs to the cellar deliberately, pulling out her key and sticking it into the keyhole of the door at the bottom. With a yank of the key, it unlocked, and she pushed it open, careful to close it behind her.

"Hey, Kitty!" greeted Clarice. Kitty waved.

"Hello," she said, surveying the group. "I believe you all know why we're here."

"Because of that idiot boy, that's why," Glen muttered darkly. Kitty pretended to ignore him.

"Anyway, to our first matter of business. Is everyone accounted for?"

Jack raised his hand guiltily.

"Actually, everyone but one person is here," he admitted sheepishly. Kitty looked at him confusedly.

"Who's absent?" she asked. He smiled apologetically.

"Uh, Dylan."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead anxiously.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know, really," said Jack sadly. "He was hanging at my place, but when we got the call from Yasmin, he freaked out and ran off. I have no idea where he went."

Kitty shook her head and resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall angrily.

Damn that ignorant boy. Damn him.

**-To Be Continued-**

**Author's Notes:** This chapter didn't really have a lot of action, but that's because it's the start of a story. But it did have a bit of tension and mystery, so I really liked that bit. Kitty seemed in character to me, but I'm not so sure. If you can't tell, I'm having a lot of fun with my original characters. Don't worry, if you can't tell, Chapter Three will make it very obvious. Speaking of which...

**Next Chapter: **In _Surrounded by Fools_, Nathaniel has to deal with not only this case, but a promotion for our favorite lab technician, an idiotic clerk, an imbecile assistant, and yet another murder. And did I mention that Ms. Jane Farrar herself makes an appearance? Not to mention the return of a certain wisecracking djinni...


	3. Surrounded by Fools

Finally, an update. I wrote two chapters to another fic (12000 words, by the way) before I wrote Chapter 4 of this, which turned out great. But anyway...

I'm going to be posting stuff on my livejournal, which is under the homepage link on my Author Profile, about my fics, such as sneak peeks and stuff. I'm planning on posting a preview of chapter four today, too, so check it out!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Bartiamaeus Trilogy or any characters in it, just my characters and the plot of this.

**Chapter Three  
**Surrounded by Fools

_**"Keep your friends close– hold your enemies closer." -Arabian Proverb**_

Nathaniel tapped his pencil against his desk thoughtfully. If they could find the murderer, they would most likely be able to extract quite a lot of information about the Resistance from him. Of course, if he was anything like that Kitty girl, he'd be prideful and hard-headed. But even the most idiotic of people could be broken with a little patience and perseverance.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Nathaniel looked up. It was Ffoukes.

"Yes, George, I did," Nathaniel said, sitting up in his chair. He held up a file folder. "In here is the address and other miscellaneous information about the store, Grimons'. I want you and someone of your choice to go to this store, and to get information concerning the employees. Get a full list of all of them and interview whoever is currently there, and find out who is missing."

Ffoukes nodded.

"Yes, sir," he replied, heading out of the room. Nathaniel didn't notice his brief smile as he walked through the oak doorway.

-

"Hey, John?" Nathaniel looked up.

"Yes, Morris?" he replied. Morris looked around the office uncomfortably.

"Is it alright if I sit down?" he asked. Nathaniel shrugged.

"Sure, why not," he said, motioning to the fine mahogany chair seated in front of his desk. Morris smiled gratefully and pulled the chair out, falling into it as gently as he could. "Anyway, what's the matter?"

Morris shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"Well, I was kind of wondering if I could become a more prominent figure in the whole investigation thing." Nathaniel looked at him blankly. "You know, like maybe become a, er, well, you know."

"What?" Nathaniel asked simply. Morris sighed.

"I was wondering if I could become a CSI," he said. Nathaniel's blank expression remained plastered on his face. "You know, CSI: a crime scene investigator. It's an acronym, I think-"

"I know what a CSI is, thank you, Morris," interrupted Nathaniel tiredly. He glanced at the paperwork on his desk and shuffled it nervously. "Have you talked to Atkins?"

"Yep," Morris replied brightly. "I turned in the application two weeks ago."

"Oh, really?" Morris's face fell.

"I just wanted to make sure I'd gotten accepted first," he explained. Nathaniel's eyes widened.

"You got accepted?" he said, shocked. Morris frowned.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" Nathaniel smiled bleakly.

"Well, first of all, you're our main lab technician," he stated. Morris held up his hand.

"Not any more, I found a new one. Well, it wasn't me so much as Atkins had a niece who had just graduated from Oxford with a Ph.D. or something of the sort. And, according to Atkins, she's pretty good at this whole 'identify the crap investigators bring in' business."

Nathaniel looked at the clock anxiously.

"Not to be rude or anything, but exactly why are you telling me this?" he inquired hastily. Morris bit his lip.

"Well, it's standard procedure, really," he replied. "A CSI must be trained byeither another CSI or his supervisor, and, by golly, you fit both those requirements, Johnny. And then the CSI-in-training is brought before the board where his trainer gives a full report to those fat oldies who run this place and they interview the CSI hopeful. And that's it, I think."

"First of all, don't call me Johnny," Nathaniel said briskly.

"Point taken."

"Second of all, don't call the heads of the Security and Police departments 'fat oldies.' It upsets them, you see."

"Ah. Good point," remarked Morris.

"And finally," continued Nathaniel, "what makes you think I am going to train you as a CSI, particularly at such an inopportune time?"

Morris shrugged.

"Oh, you know, it's just government policy," he said, waving his hand breezily. He looked at Nathaniel imposingly. "And Atkins would grab the first chance he could get to go to Devereaux saying you'd broken some long-standing and prestigious law. And then the whole department would grab the chance to insult and degrade you until Devereaux fires you. But besides that, it's no big deal. Do whatever the hell you want, I say."

Nathaniel sighed and nodded.

"Ah. Point taken." Morris brightened up considerably.

"So, when can you take me out into the field?"

Nathaniel was about to respond when a clerk stuck her head into the room.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Ms. Norice is back with her report on Grimons'." Nathaniel smirked.

"Oh, so George chose Bella, eh?" he laughed. "I always did think he fancied her. Wait; where is that idiot Ffoukes?" The clerk shrugged.

"Ask Ms. Norice," she suggested, peeking back out of the room. "She's waiting at the front desk."

Nathaniel stood up, buttoning his collar, and nodded to the clerical worker.

"Thank you, I'll be right out." He glanced back to Morris. "You, come. Hurry, now, we don't want to keep anyone waiting, do we?" Morris raised an eyebrow.

"Why am I coming?" he asked, bemused. Nathaniel resisted the urge to kick him in annoyance.

"Well, if you want to see what a field agent and Internal Affairs Minister- youngest ever, may I add- does, then you'd better shadow one, as they like to call it," he said sensibly. Morris nodded, acting impressed.

"Wow, I think you went a little too fast for me there, Johnny." Nathaniel resisted that very same urge once again, this time accompanied by the want to strangle the scientist.

"_Do not call me Johnny_!" he hissed through gritted teeth, walking out of the door. Morris shrugged as he followed behind him.

"Fine, it's your loss," he said apathetically. He ducked as an imp went flying over his head. "I mean, the name John is so tight, so strict. Johnny, on the other hand, is loose and cool, laid back. Just think about it. If you went up to someone random on the street and said, 'Hey, I'm John,' they'd think, 'Wow, I could stick a lump of coal in this guy's arse and have a diamond in a week.' But on the other hand, if you went up to someone and said, 'Hey, what's up, I'm Johnny,' they'd think 'Man, this guy is cool. Really, his name's Johnny. This guy is probably the coolest guy in the whole damn government.' It's just common sense, Johnny- I mean, John."

Nathaniel shook his head regretfully.

"Why did I ever hire you?" he thought bitterly out loud. Morris shrugged.

"I don't know, why did you hire me?" Nathaniel felt his hand slip to grab the nearest pen and stab Morris with it, but he stopped himself in time. A murder would not look good on his résumé at all.

"Hello, Mr. Mandrake," said a woman in a green Italian suit politely. Nathaniel nodded back in response.

"Hello, Ms. Norice," he greeted neutrally. He glanced around the room. "Ffoukes is not here, I see. Where exactly is my assistant?"

Norice shook her head.

"My sincerest apologies, Mr. Mandrake. I do not have a clue where he went." Nathaniel breathed deeply. He would kill Ffoukes as soon as he killed Morris. He would drown them both in the Thames, or, better yet, push them under a moving train. No, he wanted them to suffer. Maybe he'd cut off their fingers and choke them with them…

Ugh, what morbid thoughts.

Anyway, those murders could wait until this case was resolved.

"No worries. Could you please explain the details of your visit to Grimons'?" Norice nodded obediently.

"Well, we went straight to the store, like you told us to," she recalled, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Then, we asked the manager, Griffith, if I remember correctly, for a list of the employees. He gave it to us and we looked it over quickly and I put it in my pocket. Then, we went and interviewed the employees that had shown up for work that day in the back. Pretty boring folks, if I may say so myself, sir. Just commoners. Anyway, a lot of them didn't like this Dylan fellow, which we thought was pretty interesting."

"I don't pay you to be interested," Nathaniel said bluntly. She winced.

"I know, sir. As I was saying, a lot of the employees didn't like this Dylan. He was a bit too loud for their tastes and a bit too radical in his distaste towards magicians."

"Oh, really?" Nathaniel asked, intrigued.

"Really, sir. So then, after we're done interviewing them, we ask the manager for the name of the employees who hadn't shown up for work, and, wouldn't you know it, we got one name. Any guesses?"

"Simon Lovelace?" Morris suggested. Norice rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Simon Lovelace," she said sarcastically. "Of course it wasn't Simon Lovelace, you dolt. They gave us the name of one Dylan Haliben, a sprightly young lad who was an assistant carver. It seems young Dylan had a very public hatred of magicians, and he often left work mysteriously, citing visits to obscure relatives."

Nathaniel stroked his chin thoughtfully in what he hoped was a dignified manner.

"It seems that this Dylan was not only our killer, from the looks of it, he was also a member of the Resistance," he stated. "That would explain how he killed the imp, too. It was just as I had theorized. He has a magical resilience, much like some of the members of the first Resistance."

"Just wondering, sir, how do we know this second Resistance has resilience?" Norice asked. Nathaniel shook his head.

"You underestimate me, Ms. Norice," he chuckled. "I have seen some of them in action, under their appropriate disguises, of course. Never could quite catch them because of some mishap or a foolish young magician. And word also spread around the town of the Resistance, as much as we tried to stop it."

Norice nodded.

"Of course, sir."

"Anyway, it seems that we shall have to find this-"

"Sir?" Nathaniel sighed irritably, turning to the same clerk that had interrupted his previous discussion with Morris.

"Yes, what is it?" he snapped. The clerk flinched slightly.

"Well, sir, it seems that one Dylan Haliben's body was found floating down the Thames around fifteen minutes, sir." Nathaniel scowled angrily.

"What the hell?" he growled. The clerk shrugged.

"I don't know, sir." He sighed, looking to Morris, who was playing interestedly with a bouncy ball he had found on the floor. His co-workers were idiots.

"That was rhetorical," he said, patting the clerk's shoulder and rubbing his face with his hand. "Any information on the crime?" She shook her head.

"Not at the moment, sir," she replied. His eye twitched angrily.

"Back to the office, then," he said, turning to Morris. Morris didn't appear to hear him, enamored with his ball. Nathaniel swiped it from the air and tossed it into the trash bin.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"Back to the office!" Nathaniel repeated, heading back towards his working area. "We need to re-think our plan of attack."

Morris made no reply, still fuming over the loss of his bouncy ball.

Nathaniel was about to say something else when an elegant, feminine form blocked his way.

"Hello, John."

"Hello, Jane," he said coolly, not letting any emotion show. Ever since the Duvall incident, he had been intensely alert around the werewolf's former apprentice. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, nothing," she said, smiling slightly. Her eyes gleamed. "I just heard about the _tragedy_ that occurred in your investigation. What a shame."

He smiled back forcibly.

"Yes, it is, but we'll get them yet," he replied. She nodded and smirked thinly.

"I've been wanting to ask you something for quite a while, John," she said dramatically, her voice becoming louder. "Why don't you have a servant? I mean, Whitwell does, I do; all great magicians are supposed to have one, no? Let me tell you, having little Ethel here is quite handy. Hard to think he's five thousand years old!"

Nathaniel's eyes slipped to the young chick resting on Farrar's shoulder.

"Funny, he doesn't look a day over one," he stated. The chick hissed.

He glanced back to Morris and then to his watch in a rather bored manner.

"And besides, must I remind you that the truly great magicians had multiple servants instead of just one?" he rebuked icily. Farrar's eyes narrowed angrily. "Gladstone and Solomon certainly didn't just have one servant."

"Maybe so," she said irritably. He sighed.

"Anyway, I must be off-"

"Sir!"

He swiveled on his heel.

"Ffoukes!" he cried angrily. He strode up towards his assistant angrily. "Where were you?"

Ffoukes grinned.

"I took care of a little problem, so to speak," he whispered. Nathaniel's eyes widened fearfully.

"That was you?" Ffoukes ecstatic look didn't lessen.

"The one and only," he replied happily. Nathaniel groaned.

"You idiot!" he seethed, making sure no one could hear him. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Ffoukes's triumphant expression dimmed a bit.

"Er, I thought we might as well get rid of him." Nathaniel restrained himself from killing his assistant. Right after he killed Morris, of course.

"We could've gotten information out of him, you fool!" he growled. Ffoukes looked as though this concept had just dawned on him. Nathaniel sighed. The shock of his assistant murdering their biggest connection to the Resistance was beginning to settle in. "No matter, we'll worry about it later. If you mind my asking, how exactly did you do it?"

Ffoukes's face lightened considerably.

"With my new slave, of course," he said, gesturing to a small African boy behind him. Nathaniel tried to control his shock at who he'd just seen. "May I introduce the honorable, the distinguished, the one and only-"

"Bartimaeus!"

**-To Be Continued-**

**Author's Notes: **Good little cliff-hanger at the end, eh? I really like this chapter, because not only does it have a few surprises, it has the reappearance of Farrar, a rather despicable character. Hooray!

**Next Chapter: **In _Civil Disobedience_, Bartimaeus and Nathaniel have a long, long talk, and Ffoukes get a-talkin'-to, also. Of course, all from Bartimaeus's point of view.


	4. Civil Disobedience

Hey, gang, I'm back! My muse has been going insane lately, so this chapter came a bit sooner than I thought.I just finished Chapter 5, which turned out great, and I can't wait to start Chapter 6, which iswhere the real plot begins. I want to thank all my reviewers, too. I'm glad you all like Morris and that the whole Ffoukes thing was a bit of a surprise, and I really need to thank Black Skittles (formerly known as Bitter Twilight)for the awesome shout-out on her author profile

: grins happily :

Anyway, now it's time to see how badly I screw up Bartimaeus's character... Anyone who checked out my livejournal post showing a clip of this will already have an idea.

**Disclaimer: **Do you really think I own _The Bartimaeus Trilogy_? Well, I don't. I do own my OC's, though, so... er... bug off!

**Chapter 4  
**Civil Disobedience

"_**Negotiation in the classic diplomatic sense assumes parties more anxious to agree than to disagree." –Dean Acheson**_

"Huh?" Needless to say, my master was completely and utterly confused, not that this surprised me in the least. He'd been overeager and a bit excitable when he summoned me, and even forgot my name at first.

But Nathaniel being here… Well, that did surprise me. A bit. Being an esteemed world traveler I am, you begin to sense these things before they happen, and I'd been feeling a bit odd lately. I don't think it was that mouler I ate, either.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the prick and his servant were just having an interesting conversation.

"Er, nothing," Nathaniel said rather hastily, covering his slip-up about as elegantly as an elephant on stilts. His hand raised to his hair, which was quite a bit shorter now (thank goodness), and he scratched his hand casually. (Again, I use this lightly. Extremely lightly. As light as a feather.) "I've come in contact with this spirit before. A fairly nice servant, too, though he's got a bit of an attitude."

I think he meant this to irritate me, but I'd heard it all before. As Solomon had once told me, "Bartimaeus, I believe you are going to get insulted many times in your lifetime, and I thank the gods for that."

"I hadn't noticed, but I'll be careful," Ffoukes stated obediently, nodding. He had raised a hand for me to follow him off somewhere but Nathaniel spoke out.

"Hold on, Ffoukes," he said, stroking his cheek in contemplation. I could tell by his quickened breath that he was nervous, thus meaning he was obviously lying. "This spirit has come in contact with members of the first Resistance, if I am correct. I would like to have a quick word with him, just to get a little background information."

Ffoukes nodded once again. "Yes, sir. Shall we go in your office?"

Nathaniel stared at him.

"I would like to see him alone." Ffoukes raised an eyebrow. "If you will hear me out, I'll explain myself. Both Bartimaeus (I believe I have correctly stated the name of your servant) and myself have had a good deal of experience dealing with these matters. Any information we could share would be confusing and disorienting to you. I do not want you confused. Don't worry, though; I'll have a word with you about what you've done."

Ffoukes gulped. "Yes, sir," he replied. He turned to me. "Bartimaeus, go with Mr. Mandrake."

I sighed dramatically and nodded, but to no effect. Nathaniel merely checked his watch and headed off somewhere, to his office, no doubt, and I followed. Once we were out of earshot, I smirked.

"So, Nat, I see you've gotten a haircut recently!" I exclaimed energetically. "I've got to say, I'm pretty proud of you. And you've gotten rid of that second skin you used to wear as a suit- hey, is that an Italian hat?" Nathaniel looked up.

"I thought I was John Mandrake to you," he said blankly. "That is what you called me when we last saw each other." I shrugged.

"New wardrobe, new person, or at least that's what I'm hoping," I explained with a poker face that would've made my old master Tyco quiver in fear. I had forgotten completely about the whole 'Nathaniel becoming Mandrake' thing. "And also, it's much more fun to see you squirm when I say your name. Nathaniel!"

"_Shut up_!" he hissed. I chuckled.

"My point exactly."

He didn't respond, still a bit red in the face, and threw a large door open. Crossing a large room and sitting down behind a desk, he sighed. "If you would be so kind, please close the door."

I wasn't so kind. He gritted his teeth and shot out of his chair, walking in as cool a manner as he could manage and shutting the door, muttering some enchantment (most likely a Soundless Barrier) and strutting back to his desk, plopping down in the chair once again.

"Well, anyway," he said, his feathers (not that he had feathers, although I'd like to see that) a bit more ruffled, "to business."

"To business!" I agreed, leaning back in my chair and propping my legs up on his desk. He glared at me and yanked the papers on which I had so politely placed my feet out from under me, dusting them off carefully and sticking them in a drawer. Even if he did get on my nerves, I had to admit, Nathaniel was amusing. His head popped up from below the desk, where his drawers were (I'm talking about the furniture kind, too, you pervert), and he gave me another stare. Any other djinni would have hid under his chair at this point- that, or laugh openly (probably this option)- but not I, the noble and great Bartimaeus. And besides, I wasn't facing the Shriveling Fire if I disobeyed his orders. Why should I be respectful?

He sighed and rubbed his eyes as business-like as possible, which isn't very at all.

"Bartimaeus, I know we have had our differences in the past-"

"If those were differences, then the Great War was a skirmish," I interrupted.

"-but I believe it is in the best interest of both parties-"

"You mean, this is best for me."

"-that we reconcile and move forward like civilized beings-"

"Civilized? That's what you call yourself?" Much to my delight, I had finally gotten to him.

"_Will you be quiet and let me finish_?" he growled furiously. I shrugged.

"I don't know, maybe. It depends what's in it for me," I said. Much to my shock, he smiled.

"That's what I was trying to get to before you starting cutting me off every three seconds," he stated. "Obviously, I don't want you to reveal my true name. But of course, you're wondering why you shouldn't'."

I gasped in mock surprise. "Wow, it's like we're speaking the same language!" He smirked. Uh-oh. Smirking was never good.

"Still a sarcastic annoying bugger, I see," he chuckled. If he was finding my unbelievably piercing and cold remarks funny, this was either a) good, because he was clinically insane or b) bad, because if he thought insults were entertaining, he'd probably got a trifle more powerful. "Let's face the facts, Bartimaeus: it's been four years since I originally summoned you. Don't you think I am able to summon an entity more powerful than you by now?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging. "If you're as lazy and corrupt as most magicians, you'd probably be too drunk to study. But since I know you, I know you're never drunk, just crazy." He scowled. There, that was better.

"Don't worry, I am," Nathaniel warned, leaning across the table towards me. "In fact, last month, I summoned an afrit named Lilic for a mission in the Americas."

I looked at the ceiling, deep in thought.

"I think I know Lilic. Is she the one who always seems high?" He frowned.

"Actually, Lilic is a he," he informed me briskly, shuffling some more papers. This seemed to have taken the place of brushing his hair to the side as a habit. "Anyway, this is my proposal: you don't reveal my name for the duration of your service with Ffoukes, and forever thereafter, and I in turn will not summon an afrit to blast you into oblivion. It's your call."

I thought for a second or two. Blasted magicians and their blasted proposals. Once again, I, Bartimaeus, was getting screwed (again, not in a sexual way, you pervert) in a deal with a magician. Business as usual.

"Fine," I sighed, standing up. Nathaniel smiled in an extremely annoying fashion, and I desired deeply to knock the grin off his face with a Detonation or two. But that probably wouldn't end well for me. Damn magicians.

"Now, I must consult with your master about the events of today," he declared, not that I cared a bit. Maybe he'd get so angry at Ffoukes that he'd kill him. Or maybe they'd get in a fight and kill each other.

But my daydreams were cut short and he motioned for me to follow him back to my master and the other magician, who was dozing in a chair lightly. Nathaniel sighed.

"Morris, get up, you're embarrassing me," he ordered, tapping the man on the shoulder. He shivered suddenly (with a hand as greasy as that touching me, I would too) and his eyes opened.

"Oh, you're done?" He looked at his watch. "Man, I only got five minutes of sleep in. I thought you were going to talk for a long time, seeing as you were gathering background information."

Nathaniel's cheeks began to turn a light shade of red, and he covered them up by wiping his face with his sleeve nonchalantly.

"We got held up," he stated simply. He turned to Ffoukes. "Now, I must talk with you."

Ffoukes looked past Nathaniel hopefully. "To your office?" Nathaniel shook his head.

"No, I want to make this clear to Morris, too," he said coldly, staring down my master with icy eyes. "What you had Bartimaeus do earlier today was one of the most idiotic things I have ever encountered in my career. We could have gotten information from him, maybe struck a crippling blow to the Resistance! But no, you thought it would be rather heroic to play the hero and wipe him away completely, destroying our only lead. What were you thinking?"

"I just thought I'd show a little justice-"

"No, you weren't thinking at all," Nathaniel said sadly, shaking his head. He bit his lip. "But, we can't exactly erase it. See if you can get any more leads from the shop, though. Maybe some of the other members don't know of his death and will be waiting for him to return."

Ffoukes nodded obediently, and for a second I thought he'd salute Nathaniel. "Yes, sir." Cue the immense sucking-up. "I'll get right on it, sir. Servant, come."

Reluctantly, I went with him, out of the building and into the open air. However, I couldn't compress a smirk and one snide comment.

"Nice going, boss." He scowled at me.

"You'd best watch your mouth," he seethed. I grinned as he turned from me, walking away.

My day had finally begun to look up. This guy was more fun than Nathaniel.

**-To Be Continued-**

**Author's Notes: **A very short chapter, but it really couldn't be any longer without bogging it down, seeing as the entire scene is about five or ten minutes. I also had to end there because it was just convenient for the plot. Overall, I thought I did a decent job with Barty, but that's for you to decide. Please review and tell me how I did!

**Next Chapter: **In _A Pool of Blood_, Kitty and the Resistance begin their search for Dylan, only to find out that maybe they shouldn't have even done so in the first place...


	5. A Pool of Blood

Well, I'm updating. This may be the last update for quite a while; I don't know. Things are getting a little out of hand, so I'm sorry if I don't update frequently. But I'm trying as best I can, rest assured.

Once again, thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers. You know who you are. And who you aren't. :glances at people who haven't reviewed:

**Disclaimer: **I've run out of clever things to say, so let's just say I don't own the Bartimaeus trilogy.

**Chapter Five**  
A Pool of Blood

_**"And I ran, I ran so far away,  
I just ran, I ran all night and day;  
I couldn't get away."**_

_**-A Flock of Seagull's **"I Ran"**  
**_

_**  
**_

Kitty put her head in her hands. Everything was going wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"Kitty?" She looked up.

"Yes, Jack?"

He sighed sadly, his shoulders sagging. "What are we supposed to do now?"

Kitty snorted.

"I don't know," she snapped bitterly, her anger caused by pure exasperation. Jack flinched and she shook her head. "I'm sorry for jumping down your throat, but I'm just a little stressed. Honestly, I don't know where we're supposed to go from here."

"I've got an idea," stated Glen from his position against the wall. He stood up and walked over to the table Kitty was sitting at. "Jack can see demons and Joel and Elliot can feel magic output, so they'll be in a group. With them, obviously, will be Katherine, since she can sense which individuals have resilience. You and I, since we're resilient, will go with them as protection. We'll space ourselves, of course, but we'll stick together relatively."

Kitty cocked an eyebrow.

"What about Thomas, Yasmin, and Clarice? All of them see demons, so it's not like they have a large chance of finding Dylan." It was Jack's turn to speak.

"They can cover our back to see if any magicians are tailing us," he suggested.

Glen grinned. "Exactly," he huffed proudly, crossing his arms and sticking out his chest. Kitty shook her head.

"Well, I suppose it's the best we've got, so why not give it a try?" she wondered aloud, shrugging. Jack clapped her on the back.

"Thattagirl!" he exclaimed happily. Just then, Yasmin popped her head into the room.

"So, do we have a plan?"

Kitty shrugged. "Yeah. It's an iffy one, but it's a plan all the same, which is more than we've got."

-

To the untrained eye, they were vacationers, or merely people with far too much time to spare. They stopped occasionally at a shop or booth, but quickly, mind you, for they were in a rush. But even when hurried, they were calm, cool, and collected, at least on the exterior, that is. This was just how they operated.

The young woman lowered her sunglasses a bit, looking ahead impatiently. They were moving along at the rate of a slug. They would need a tremendous amount of luck to do this in any sane amount of time.

"Hello, Miss, you look like you're in need of a poncho!" She turned to see an old man outside a shot grinning toothlessly, and he chuckled when a large glob of rain hit her shoulder. She hadn't even noticed the change in weather. Maybe she was losing her touch. "See what I mean? Now, we've got the standard, traditional Spanish poncho-" he pointed to a brown one "-or we've got some exotic ones, like these German pieces over here."

She frowned irritably and coolly replied, "I am not looking to buy, thank you."

However, he still kept that crooked grin. "Nonsense. Everybody loves ponchos!"

She shook her head and began to walk away when a strong arm yanked her by the elbow back to the store.

"Now, now, Miss," he said cheerfully, "you weren't thinking of leaving, were you? I mean, look at all that rain, and you don't have something to wrap around that pretty little body of yours!"

Her patience was beginning to run thin by this point, her face becoming a faint shade of red.

"I told you," she spoke through clenched teeth angrily, "I am not looking to buy, thank you very much!" And she turned to walk away again, but the man pulled her back to the shop.

"I see what this is about!" He looked very pleased with himself. "Now, don't you worry, I'm a persistent bugger!"

She ignored him and pulled herself from his grasp, but he hooked his arms around his waist, putting his head on her shoulder. "Don't worry, I understand! You're worried the Mister won't approve, aren't you?"

She tried to control herself, to contain her anger, but something inside her snapped. She wasn't sure what it was, but something triggered her temper, and that was never a good thing, for it made her lose her cool. So she did the only thing she could think of at the time.

Spinning around, she punched him upside the jaw.

He fell to the ground wordlessly, knocked out. Several ladies gasped from the doorway.

"He was a senior citizen!" they reprimanded, wagging a finger. "How could you?"

Her temper was still running high, so she didn't even think about what she would say next, just saying it instinctively. "Sexual assault."

They put a hand to their mouths in shock and nodded supportively.

"Don't worry, we won't tell a soul!"

She tilted her head towards them gratefully and walked the other way, relief filling her body. Well, that had gone rather smoothly. She'd only lost two minutes, come to think of it.

She turned to her left after spotting Glen across the street motioning to her slyly, and nearly ran into another, not seeing him from the turn.

Jack grinned. "Nice one, Kitty," he whispered. She shrugged.

"It was alright," she remarked, lowering her sunglasses a bit to see him better. "I blew my top, but at least I covered for it."

"Yep, you sure did," Jack agreed, jutting his head backwards to motion for her to follow him. Swiveling on his foot, he began to stroll down the long sidewalk, Kitty following. "You're a natural."

She didn't reply, instead electing to have her eyes dart around for any sign of their missing comrade. "Has Katherine picked anything up yet?"

Jack shook his head sadly.

"Nope. It's like he vanished into thin air without a trace."

"Well, maybe the magicians are having the same luck," she said hopefully, not really believing it, though.

They walked in silence from that point on. That is, until someone nearly knocked Kitty over from the side.

"Oh, there you are," breathed Elliot, bending over and panting. Running wasn't exactly his strong point; that title belonged to reading. He pointed a thumb over his back, still struggling to catch his breath. "Katherine… Katherine… whoa, I'm winded-"

Kitty's eyes narrowed. "Katherine what, Elliot?"

He sighed. "Katherine thinks she found something."

"Where?" Kitty demanded instantly. He took one more breath and stood up.

"Down this ally. Come on, I'll show you."

He turned and began to limp down a decrepit side street, moaning dramatically. However, this all ended when Kitty gave him a sharp kick in the-

"Ass!" he groaned, rubbing his backside. "Did it have to be in the ass?"

Kitty shrugged. "If you don't hurry up, it'll be somewhere else, equally as painful."

Elliot's face contorted, and he nodded.

"Yes, Master." And he began to jog, Kitty and Jack following behind him. Kitty nearly did the same to Jack when he couldn't keep from laughing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered with a chuckle, "it's just that Elliot running is hysterical!" He quietly began to choke from the strain of laughing and talking at the same time until Kitty gave him a nice slap on the back, quite a bit harder than was necessary.

They were interrupted by Elliot's voice. "Here she is!"

Katherine was knelt over a stained patch of cement, her face grim. Joel stood at her side, and Glen was approaching from behind Kitty.

"What is it?" Kitty asked. Katherine looked at her darkly.

"Blood," she replied quietly. Her eyes fell back to the stain. "It's got resilience all over it. He was here, and he bled."

Joel's face became pale. "How far could he have gone from here? I mean, if he was bleeding…"

Glen shook his head.

"Not far, judging by the size of that. I think someone- or something- attacked him. From there, I don't have a clue." He stroked his ruggedly unshaven cheek thoughtfully.

"Guys?" Joel called, his fingers tracing over the wood of a fence. His face was grim. "I think I found something."

Kitty's eyes widened and she rushed over to him, peering at the spot on the fence his finger was pointing to.

She bit her lip. "More blood. He went over this; that's the only explanation."

Without waiting for the others to respond, she placed one foot on a trash can, planting the palms of her hands on the top of the fence, and pushed, propelling her over the structure and onto the ground as gracefully as a cat. She crouched, looking out at the area beyond her and grimaced as the others hopped the fence behind her.

"Please, don't tell me he went into that," she said to Katherine. Katherine shook her head.

"Sorry, but there's no doubt about it. He _definitely_ went into that."

"That" was the calm flow of the Thames, and Kitty wiped at her eyes.

"Why would he go in there if he's not…" She sniffed suddenly and gritted her teeth. Now was not a time to be emotional.

Jack put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Maybe he wanted a swim?"

This earned him a slap from Glen.

"Stupid boy," he muttered, shaking his head. "Yes, that's it, he wanted a swim! Honestly, there are only two possibilities. The only one I think you'll like is that he was trying to get on a boat to escape. The other is a bit more morbid and much more unpleasant."

"Whatever it is that he did," Katherine stated, standing up, "there are extremely strong traces of him in there."

Kitty sighed and straightened upward, stretching her back. "Well, we all know what this means. Who's up for a little swim?"

And she stepped to the edge of the concrete and without hesitation jumped, curling into an elegant dive. She relaxed as the cold water surrounded her, the calamity of it all sinking away for a moment.

Opening her eyes, she began to push forward ferociously as the others dove in behind her. Her clothes stuck to her body, weighing her down, but it didn't matter at all. She had to find that idiotic boy. That was the only thing that did matter.

Brushing away a small fish, she went above water for a quick breath, glancing at Joel. "Any luck?"

He shook his head, and she submerged her body once again.

After repeating this several more times, she could feel the muscles in her legs and arms begin to grow weary. Her lips pursed angrily. She would not be tired. She couldn't be. Dylan's life could depend on it.

With an inward sigh, she pushed up to the air once again.

"I'm have zero luck," she called to Glen and Jack.

"I know," Jack commented wryly, glancing at the water doubtfully. "I'm starting to doubt Katherine's accuracy."

Kitty was about to reply when she raised her arm to brush the hair from her eye, stopping suddenly. Her white blouse had a very large red stain on it. It hadn't had that stain before.

Slowly, she looked down. It was surrounding her like a predatory creature, wrapping around her, trying to suffocate her. The deep red tainted the water, and she could feel the metallic substance on her lips.

Blood.

In horror, her eyes followed the pool of blood all the way to a body, floating face down in the water. Well, there Dylan was.

"I think- I- I think I found him!" she choked, suddenly feeling very dirty and unclean. The others didn't say a thing, just watching fearfully.

"Guys, we need to go!" came Clarice's voice from the edge of the water. "The police are coming!"

Kitty didn't really hear her, but she backed away, sluggishly reaching the land. Suddenly, her senses came about her, and she yanked herself onto the cement, scrambling to her feet and running away from the others, from the body, from the blood, never looking back.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **This is somewhat of a transition chapter, actually, where the plot actually starts to kick in. I managed to get some humor in there, but I think it was a little freaky-er. Which I, being my morbid self, kinda liked.

**Next Chapter:**In _Training Day_, Nathaniel gets an unwelcome awakening as the British Museum is robbed of a little-known artifact that even Bartimaeus is skeptic about. And Morris- well, I don't even think I need to elaborate.


	6. Training Day

I'm updating again, of course. It's been a while, but everything was kind of building up, and I got really busy. It was a snowball effect, really. If you've ever seen a supernova, it was something like that. You haven't? Well, neither have I, but in my head they both are very similar.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own jack-squat that belongs to someone else.

**Chapter Six  
**Training Day**  
**

**_"It's no crime to steal from a thief." -Proverb_**

_He moved through the building like a shadow, a flicker of the light, so quiet it was like he wasn't even there. For all anyone else knew, he wasn't._

_Ducking into another room, a larger one, he felt his breath catch in his chest. There it was. The Arch. Slipping around the other displays, the darkness veiling his movements, he approached it cautiously. Those fools. If he were in charge, there would be protection around this object twenty-four hours a day._

_But luckily for him, there wasn't. Through the dimness of the chamber he could make out the ancient lettering on the stone, and very lightly, he put one gloved hand to the runes. He shivered, his hair standing on end, and he could feel pure energy run through his body and into the cold night air. _

_He wasn't the only one who would feel the shock of such energy output, either._

_-_

Nathaniel shot up in his bed, his hair on end. A tingling sensation ran up and down his spine, causing an exhilarating shock to his nervous system. His fingers felt numb, cold, impure. A lone bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face, and his tongue shot outwards, licking it instinctively.

What had that been? It had felt as if someone had just poured a bucket of cold water down his neck and electrocuted him.

Rolling over and switching on a lamp, the silk sheets wrinkling slightly from the sudden disturbance, he brought his hand to his eyes to shield them from the sudden explosion of light. The bright shadows flickering across the opposite wall did nothing to quell his fears, but the feeling of warmth the light gave did a slight bit, and he immediately felt better. It was just a nightmare, maybe.

But that was odd… he didn't remember any dreams.

Endless thoughts and suspicions now clogged his mind, and he sighed. There was no way he'd get to sleep now. Might as well do something productive with his time.

Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he threw the sheets off as he stood, stretching his arms and yawning slightly. Folding the bedding that he had just disturbed neatly back into position and walking do a large door, he flung it open, revealing a vast wardrobe. Finally, he chose a dark blue suit: stylish and trendy, without a ridiculous handkerchief, either.

After dressing rather quickly, he exited his bedroom, walking swiftly among the monstrous confines of his flat and into the kitchen. Like everything else in his home, it had a modernistic touch to it, and the smooth marble of the butcher block slid under his palm as he traced his hand over it. Pulling the refrigerator open wearily, he poked his head in the contraption. Nothing good to eat. He really needed to send that useless foliot to the grocer's.

With a sigh, he threw himself onto a futon to rest for a while. Glancing at the chessboard on the glass table, his eyebrows furrowed, and he sat up.

The game of chess had always fascinated him, being a game of pure strategy and cunning. Often, you'd think you had your opponent on the ropes, only to discover that he had been leading you on the entire time, and before you know it, checkmate, you lose. He supposed this form of entertainment somewhat resembled his cold war with the Resistance; both sides were desperately trying to one-up the other.

Leaning forward, he moved his pawn out. With a scratch of his chin, he moved a black pawn out, too. Those two moves resembled the murder of Ross. He tossed his bishop down onto a space where it attacked the queen directly, through the hole the black pawn had just taken. That was their finding out of Haliben. Reluctantly he captured the bishop with the queen. Damn Ffoukes, going off and murdering the murderer.

But that left the queen in a wide-open position. As powerful a piece as it was, one did not want his most versatile protector of the king so vulnerable to enemy attacks so early. So, even with his assistant's stupidity, it had overall been a stalemate of sorts: he had lost a bishop, they had lost position.

Suddenly, the ringing of a phone pierced his eardrums. He flopped his hand onto the contraption and put it to his ear.

"John Mandrake speaking."

"Mandrake, it's Atkins," came a gruff voice from the other line. Nathaniel groaned internally, although he tried to stifle it as best he could. "There's been a robbery from the British Museum. I want you there, pronto, and bring your trainee, too. More details will be disclosed when you arrive."

Nathaniel was about to reply when the man on the other end hung up abruptly. Yeah, definitely Atkins. Reluctantly, he dialed a much too familiar number into the phone.

"Hello, Morris Fischer's residence, Morris Fischer speaking. How may I help you?"

Nathaniel gritted his teeth. "Morris. It's Mandrake."

"Hey, J.M.!" Morris exclaimed brightly. The younger of the two raised an eyebrow.

"J.M.?" he spoke doubtfully into the phone. "Whatever, forget it. There was a robbery at the British Museum. Urgent business. You and me have to be there ASAP."

"Got it, Captain," Morris said obediently. Nathaniel could almost feel his salute from the other end. "See you then!"

Nathaniel was about to hang up when he paused. "Just wondering, Morris, why are you up at-" he glanced to the clock "-three o'clock in the morning?"

"Just figured it'd be a bit refreshing to go to bed at six and wake up at two." Nathaniel nearly fell flat on his face at this. "You know, try something new. Besides, they're showing all these reruns of old sitcoms all night and-"

"Forget I asked," he interrupted, slamming the phone down. He didn't even care if he was acting like Atkins. Morris was really starting to freak him out.

-

Police were gathered all around the museum, and as Nathaniel stepped out of the car, he blinked from the bright flashes of cameras. Well, it seemed that they were already documenting the crime scene.

"Hey, boss."

He looked up and sighed. "Hello, Morris."

"Atkins is inside with Ffoukes," said the technician, tilting his head to the building. "I've had to wait for you to go inside."

"Well, let's not keep them waiting," Nathaniel said irritably. Morris nodded and led the way in, ducking under the police tape as Nathaniel stepped over it. He navigated his way through the dark halls until finally, they reached a large room.

"The Egyptian Chamber," Nathaniel remarked, looking all around the cavernous room.

Atkins grunted from his position next to a sarcophagus. "What gave it away, genius? Was it the mummies or the pharaoh statue?" Nathaniel scowled at him.

"What was stolen?" Atkins tilted his head to a large, empty space.

"Something known only as the Arch of Anubis," the portly man replied, scratching his chin. "Not much is known about it. It's ancient, and referred to in several old texts, although its purpose is always alluded to. And before you ask, there was an amazing amount of magical residue here, but it's all scrambled. We believe that most of it came from this Arch."

"If we didn't know its purpose, than why do we have it?"

A gargoyle stepped forward. "Oh, you know, the British can't keep their hands off anything these days. They have to pinch something everywhere they go."

"Quiet, demon," stated Ffoukes firmly from behind Bartimaeus. Nathaniel stepped towards the spirit.

"You've been around for over five millennia. Surely you know of something of this Arch, which must have tremendous magical value."

Bartimaeus shrugged. "Not really. For some strange and unbelievable reason, the pharaohs never liked me that much."

"Wonder why," Atkins muttered from his position against the wall. Bartimaeus ignored him.

"But no doubt this is one of the more greedy ones' work," remarked the djinni, observing the space carefully. "They were very secretive, the Egyptians, and very vain and power hungry. Whatever it was, I'm guessing it wasn't activated, since someone would have heard about it if it was. The magic around here was probably just runoff from standard item catalyzation reflexes."

Morris raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "Uh, sure, whatever you say, Barty."

"Barty, huh?" The gargoyle grinned. "Hey, I kind of like it."

Morris frowned, jabbing his finger at Nathaniel. "Yeah, I tried calling him Johnny, and he went spastic."

"Morris, it's time to train," Nathaniel said in a matter-of-fact tone, cutting off the conversation before it swelled out of proportion. Grumbling, Morris walked over to the space, which Nathaniel was crouched by. "First, put on your gloves, as I already have."

Morris obliged in a bored fashion and sighed. "Well, what's next?"

"We have to document every last detail of the scene," Nathaniel said, holding a camera up to his eye and clicking a button a few times, the shutter closing with lightning speed. He crawled over a few feet and repeated the process. "You want to be sure to photograph from different angles."

"Got it."

Nathaniel put the camera down and looked at the space. "Well, now for the fun part. What do you observe about the scene?"

Morris looked long and hard at the empty spot, his chin wrinkling slightly, deep in thought. As he looked, Nathaniel noted a few details about the scene before shrugging and turning away in as dull a manner as he could. It was all pride showing: he wanted Morris to think he was an expert. Which he was. He just wanted to make sure that Morris was completely sure of this fact, or otherwise he'd be in for a shock. It was all for his best interests.

"Uh…" Nathaniel stared at the technician expectantly. "Well, there's a lack of dust here, of course."

"Exactly," said Nathaniel happily. "And what do you examine about that dust?"

Morris looked closer. "Eh, there's almost none of it in these two rectangles. That's probably where the pillars of the arch were. And around the clearer rectangles, there's less dust, which is odd, because you'd think the most dust would be there. Think about it. A lot of the stuff will either fall or be brushed off the thing and down right by the edge, which would be the hardest place to clean, also."

"And what do you think this means?" Nathaniel asked. Morris bit his lip.

"Well, it probably means this thing has been leaking out magic for a while, even if no one's activated it so far," he stated.

Nathaniel nodded. "Very good. So it might have some degree of power. But there's one more observation yet to be made. Look again at the imprints."

Morris did. For a few minutes, it was oddly silent, until his head finally shot up.

"This thing was definitely big," he commented, "but we should know that anyway from a statement by the museum. And we could find exactly how big from the security tapes, but from the size of the imprints, I'm guessing at least a ton. That tells us that this was definitely more than a one-person job. There were probably multiple people, and a few spirits, even though the magical output from the Arch is scrambling the reception. So we're looking at a group, a team who could've stolen this."

Nathaniel shrugged in as ignorant a fashion as he could. Morris was going to have to figure this one out all by himself. "Hm. Well that certainly doesn't help us that much. We still don't know who could have done it."

Morris looked up in recognition. "Oh."

"Oh, what?" Nathaniel inquired. Morris rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"No, actually I don't."

"Come on," Morris said, "we both know who we suspect."

Nathaniel shrugged. "Who do we suspect?"

The CSI-in-training looked around the room quickly before lowering his voice to a whisper.

"The Resistance, of course."

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **Decent chapter overall, and I got some more mystery in there. And I actually advanced the plot, too, which is a rare and fruitful occasion. And I got to write Morris, who is extremely fun to write. But anyway...

**Next Chapter: **In _The Troubles of Bureaucracy,_Nathaniel's search for the truth continues, but an incompetent manager certainly doesn't help matters. And one museum employee is acting rather oddly...


	7. The Troubles Of Bureaucracy

Finally posting again. This chapter's a bit late since I hadn't updated a different fic in three weeks and my muse went crazy, causing me to write a 10,000 word long double-chapter. And I was going to update this yesterday, but I got sick, so I'm updating it today.

Thanks to all the wonderful reviews of _As Warriors_! And I'm glad you all noticed the chess analogy/metaphor thing. I would be a little disappointed if you didn't... I mean, seriously, look at the title.

**Disclaimer: **_The Bartimaeus Trilogy_ belongs exclusively to Jonathan Stroud. I own the plot of this and my characters.

**Chapter Seven  
**The Troubles Of Bureaucracy

**_"In war, you can only be killed once, but in politics, many times." –Winston Churchill_**

I watched with a cautious eye as Nathaniel and the other magician conversed by the scene. So, this was how he wished to play it: cool and collected? Well, I could play that game. He thought he was clever, but I haven't survived for five thousand years for nothing. It takes more than considerable brawn (which I have) to get by in this harsh world. It takes a little wit too, you know.

Finally they stood up from their crouching position and walked back to us.

"Ffoukes, have you seen the museum manager around?" Nathaniel inquired, stroking his chin in an attempted regal and elegant manner.

My master scrambled around with a bunch of documents in his hand. "No sir, I haven't at the moment."

Nathaniel sighed. "Very well. We will have to locate him, though, if we wish to have any success at all in this case. If you do see him, tell him I want every single security tape and a detailed map of the entire complex."

"Yes, sir."

"No need for that," the man called Atkins remarked. "Here he comes right now."

A jiggling blob of a man power walked into the room, huffing a rather extraordinary amount. I'd seen some fat fellows in my time, but none like this. When he moved, the earth shook beneath him. I could almost hear the ground screaming in pain.

"Hello," he puffed, red in the face from such exercise. "You're here about the robbery, are you?"

Nathaniel stepped forward. "We are, sir. I'm John Mandrake, Internal Affairs Minister."

He held out his hand and the manager somehow managed reach out and give it a squeeze, his fat juggling about like jelly. "Kendall Parks, manager of the British Museum, finest in the land. Why, we're having an exhibit on the three great Renaissance-"

"That's wonderful, sir, but we really want to find the perpetrators as soon as possible," Nathaniel cut him off. Whoa, he really was an impolite little bugger. "We'll need your security tapes and a detailed map of the building."

"Of course." He looked reluctantly back to the door he had come from. "I'll go get them, don't worry."

I leaned over to the one who had accompanied Nathaniel; Morris I think was his name. He seemed to have some sense of humor, a remarkable feat for a magician. "I can't see how he'll get them. If he runs any more, he may pass out," I commented quietly.

Morris grinned and turned a laugh into a loud sneeze as the man seemed to realize what I had already comprehended.

"Johnson!" he barked to a teenager loafing around the building. However, another man turned as well. "Not you! Jack Johnson!"

The teenager stepped forward, his spine as stiff as a human backbone could be. This Kendall Parks must be really intimidating when he's not trying to control his belly. "Y-Yes, sir?"

"Go get the security tapes and map of the building for this government official!" He pointed to Nathaniel, and the boy's eyes darted to him insecurely.

"It would be a pleasure to get said objects for Mr. Mandrake, sir!" he squeaked, his voice cracking. He dashed off in as obedient a manner as he could, and I smirked at Nathaniel.

"Well, it seems you're getting pretty well known, huh?" However, he didn't reply, his lips tightened into a frown as his eyes followed the fleeting form of the teen. "What, you suddenly don't want fame and fortune?"

He still remained silent, lips remaining pursed. I never will get magicians and their odd gestures.

"So, I trust you've all visited on occasion?" said Parks, clapping his chubby hands together jovially.

I smirked. "Yeah. Last time I was here, though, there was a golem trying to kill me, so I don't really have fond memories of the place."

I felt a hand slap the back of my head quickly.

"Servant! Quiet!" hissed Ffoukes from behind me. "You will show respect to your superiors!"

I was about to reply with a remark so scathing it was sure to make him cower in fear, but then I remembered that he wasn't Nathaniel, so he'd just punish me the old-fashioned way with a good bit of magic. Honestly, magicians these days are so uptight.

"Yes, master," I responded in as disobedient a tone as I could risk. He straightened upward, satisfied. Magicians surely are proud creatures.

"Can you give us any information on the item stolen?" Nathaniel asked, keeping his strict business-like manner in tact. The manager shrugged.

"It was an item of value," he said vaguely. "That is all I know."

There was an awkward silence in which Nathaniel nudged Morris as inconspicuously as he could manage. However, Morris just looked at him oddly, which brought Nathaniel to whisper, "Ask the next question!" in his ear.

He looked bewildered before finally mustering the strength to spit out a question. "D-do you have any information on file about the artifact?"

Parks thought for a minute or two, his face etched with wrinkles from the mental exercise. Between it and physical activity, he didn't seem to do much of either. Finally, he turned and waved to a man wandering about the building.

"Jenkins! Come here!"

The man nodded and began to run over to his superior.

"Don't run in the museum, fool!" he scolded the younger of the two, who nodded once again. I wondered if he was a mute. He beckoned for him to come closer, finally leaning over and saying in a somewhat low voice (although I could hear him just fine), "Do we have any files around here?"

Jenkins nodded. "Yes, sir."

So he wasn't a mute. Anyway, Parks contorted his face and leaned closer. "Are they files with information in them?"

"That's generally what files are, sir."

He patted Jenkins on the back. "Just a test. You see, everyday is an interview when you're working for one of the most prestigious museums in the world!"

Obviously, he was lying, but anyone with half a brain could have noticed that, so I decided not to say it aloud. Besides, if Nathaniel and Morris wanted to tell that idiot I call my master what was going on, that was their problem.

"Well, since Johnson isn't back yet, I want you to go fetch these files about- oh, there Johnson is."

The teen from earlier came sprinting back, a large bag in his hands. Parks frowned.

"Don't run in the building, you ignorant little teenyboppers!" He stopped and tilted his head slightly, which I guess could have been perceived as a nod. I didn't blame him for the lack of enthusiasm; I wouldn't be too excited about a job where my boss called me a "teenybopper" (honestly, people, teenyboppers), either. Parks sighed. "What's in the bag?"

Johnson blinked. "The stuff you asked for, sir."

Parks rolled his eyes. "Well, what is in there?"

"A few maps and a bunch of security tapes, sir."

"Just a test," Parks chuckled, eyes swiveling around in their sockets nervously. What a complete imbecile. Whoever promoted him was even more of an idiot, though. "Very well. Drop the bag and go fetch any files on the item stolen, and make sure they're files with information in them, too."

The youth obliged, the bag falling to the floor with a thud, and I caught a brief glimpse of a smirk across his face before he glanced to Nathaniel once more. Needless to say, his expression immediately became one of the utmost seriousness. Nathaniel has that effect on people.

"Yes, sir. I'll have it before you can say 'lickety split'."

He hurried off, and I could have sworn I heard Parks mutter, "lickety split" under his breath, and then something that sounded strangely like, "what a liar", too.

Parks swiveled on his foot to Nathaniel. "Well, young sirs, would you like a refreshment, or maybe even some entertainment?"

By refreshments, he meant "anything that can possibly get you drunk", and by entertainment he meant "some poor little imps we've enslaved and taught to play the piano with their feet", but Nathaniel wasn't deterred, although "young sirs" caused him to frown.

"Refreshments would be much appreciated, Mr. Parks."

He jumped up suddenly, his face red and fat jiggling as he craned his neck urgently. "Where did that fool Jenkins get off to?" he cried.

"I'm right here, sir," the man he had addressed earlier called irritably, raising a hand. Parks smiled nervously.

"Jenkins, I want you to get our guests our finest champagne!" he exclaimed excitably. Jenkins raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just a custodian. How am I supposed to know where we keep our champagne?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Wait, we have champagne? How come I've never gotten any?"

Parks bit his puffy lips angrily. "I don't care how you get it, damn it, as long as you get it! Go buy some if you have to, you numbskull!"

Jenkins retreated towards the door, and a sympathetic co-worker whispered, "The champagne's in Parks's office beneath the microwave," into his ear. Back in the day, a museum boss with an I.Q. of below sixty having a microwave in his office would have surprised me, but I'd hardened over the years. And besides, this guy put those pigs that play American football to shame. It looked as if he had eaten Santa Clause, Mrs. Clause, and all of their little elves in one sitting.

My colorful observations were interrupted, however, when Johnson returned, holding a light manila folder.

"This was all I could find, sir."

Parks grabbed it and flipped it open hastily. It contained only one sheet of paper, which seemed like quite a waste to me. I mean, seriously, you could just write the information on the inside flaps of the folder. But no, business officials had to make it look neat and prim and like they had so much money they couldn't even spend it all.

The manager thrust the paper at Nathaniel's chest. "Here is your information."

Nathaniel's eyes scoured over it whilst we waited rather impatiently. Finally, Morris voiced my sentiments, which I were forced to conceal for fear of the Stipples, or maybe something worse. Not that Ffoukes could have pulled it off, but you never know.

"Well, you planning on sharing that with the rest of us?" Morris asked, annoyance lacing his tone. Nathaniel looked up with a blank expression.

"Very well," he sighed, as if divulging the particulars of the crime was some great burden no one should have to bear. He glanced back to the paper. "It is known as the Arch, although it also goes by the name of the Archway, too."

"Big difference," I mumbled.

"Little is known about it, but it most likely originated in Egypt as a project of one of the pharaohs, maybe as a leisure activity or possibly a weapon of war."

Morris looked on doubtfully. "Like a bomb or something?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Nathaniel growled, slapping the folder shut with a scowl. Luckily, any awkward tension was avoided thanks to Jenkins's prompt arrival with a cheap bottle of champagne.

"Aha!" Parks declared, grabbing the bottle and four glasses. Setting them on a rather ancient sarcophagus, he poured the beverage into them, handing one to each of the group (beside myself) and keeping one for himself. "To this humble group of government employees, and their swift capture of the thief!"

"Aye!" There was a clinking of glasses and several gulps. The largest came from Parks, whose champagne had mysteriously disappeared already.

Nathaniel managed to cleverly mask his spitting out of the drink into a cough. "Er, fine drink, Mr. Parks. Very fine. I'll- I'll have to get that brand for myself."

Parks beamed happily, oblivious to the fact that Nathaniel was blatantly lying. Nathaniel was saved by the arrival of another clerk, however.

"Mr. Mandrake, sir!" she gasped. He breathed out sharply.

"What?"

"Mr. Devereaux requests your presence in Richmond, sir!"

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **Another Barty chapter, which is always good. I liked writing his views of Parks, particularly that little line about Santa Clause. And I put some clues in here that you'll catch if you're looking hard enough.

**Next Chapter: **In _Transfer of Power_, Nathaniel goes to Richmond, but not before he has one crazy but brilliant idea. The only question is: will anyone else agree to it? Morris is sent on amission to spy on a shady figure, and the ministers in Richmond must devise a plan to catch the Resistance before it's too late.


	8. Transfer of Power

Wow, I was actually on time with my update this week. I'd hit a brick wall trying to update my two ongoing stories lately and I've been busy (and I'm quite exhausted), but sudden inspiration for Chapter Nine came, and it turned out very nicely. But let's not bother with that. Once again, thanks for the reviews!

**Disclaimer: **If it ain't mine, don't sue me.

**Chapter Eight  
**Transfer of Power

**_"When in Rome, do as the Romans do." –Proverb_**

Nathaniel nearly swore out loud right there, in front of everyone, but he kept it in. He wouldn't be able to get any work done if he had to keep moonlighting as a politician every fifteen seconds.

"When?"

"As soon as possible, sir, and he requests that you bring your servant."

Nathaniel moaned slightly and rubbed his face with a free hand. Wonderful. Just wonderful. Now, not only would he have to go to Richmond and postpone the investigation, he would also have to summon a being worthy of presentation, which could take quite a while.

"If you do not have anything else to say, please leave," he said briskly, checking his watch. It was only six o'clock in the morning. He had a few minutes to spare.

The clerk bowed and left the room, long coat billowing behind her. Nathaniel's eyes followed her tiredly, and as soon as she had left, he sat down on a bench and frowned openly. "This is not good."

"What?" asked Morris.

Nathaniel looked at him, teeth gritted. "Oh, it's just the fact that I don't have a higher level entity handy, and summoning one could take a few days."

"Huh. Well, that is a thinker."

Suddenly, Nathaniel's eyes shot up, glancing from Ffoukes to Bartimaeus eagerly. "Unless… Ffoukes, could I talk to you and your servant for a moment?"

His assistant shrugged. "Sure," he said as he followed his superior, who had already gotten up and was now walking quickly to a corner of the room. He came to a stop and swiveled around on his foot.

"This may seem crazy, but-" he checked to make sure they were alone "-I want you to cede control of Bartimaeus to me."

Ffoukes clearly hadn't been expecting this. "_What_?"

"I want you to cede control of Bartimaeus-"

"No, I understand completely," Ffoukes cut him off, looking at him as if he had grown an extra head. "Well, actually, I don't understand at all."

Nathaniel sighed impatiently. Couldn't this wait? "I don't exactly have a lot of time on my hands to perform a full summoning, Ffoukes, so I want to know if I can borrow Bartimaeus for a short while."

Ffoukes squished his face in an effort to think better. "Eh, I guess so, if it's just for the meeting in Richmond." Bartimaeus's face fell.

"Now, hold on a minute-"

"I also want to borrow him for a short time after that."

Both master and servant were shocked by this. "_What_?"

Nathaniel rubbed his neck uncomfortably as he tried to devise a way out of this metaphorical wormhole. "Settle down, I haven't gone completely insane yet," he consoled them quietly. The two's stares at him said differently, however. "It's just that I think things are going to get a bit rough for me in the field, and I would like to have a higher level djinni at my disposal if there is any impending danger."

"What do I get in return?" Ffoukes asked skeptically.

"I have a foliot I will lend to you. Aevod!" he called, clapping his hands. There was a burst of smoke, and a small cherub emerged from the shadows.

"Yes, master?"

Nathaniel pointed to Ffoukes urgently. "I command you to now take orders from Mr. Ffoukes."

"He looks a bit peckish, doesn't he?" Ffoukes surmised from his position next to Nathaniel. A snake-like tendricle shot out without warning from the cherub's hair, and his face become deathly pale. "Never mind, I take that back. Fair trade, all in all."

He turned to his servant, pointing to Nathaniel as Nathaniel had pointed to him. "Bartimaeus, you shall now take orders from Mr. Mandrake!"

"Do I have to?"

"Of course you have to, you worthless piece of-"

Nathaniel held up a hand to make peace between the two. "Settle down, all is well. The transfer has been made." He checked his watch once more, the procedure seemingly becoming a nervous habit. "I do not have much time, and still have orders to give before I leave the scene."

He walked away from Ffoukes towards Atkins and Morris, intent on giving his orders before he left. Bartimaeus followed reluctantly behind him.

"Why is Bartimaeus with you and not Ffoukes?" Morris quizzed him.

"Change of plans," he explained quickly and simply. There wasn't time for details. "Bartimaeus will be accompanying me for a short while. Anyway, I do have a job for you. I wish for you to follow that boy, Jack Johnson, and find out exactly what he does in his spare time."

Morris cocked an eyebrow. "Why? I mean, yeah, he was stuttering, but he's just a kid."

Nathaniel looked at him icily. Why did he insist on questioning him? "As am I, Morris, if you noticed the similarity in age between the two of us, but I do not go tripping over myself every five syllables. Follow my orders, don't ask about them. Go!"

Morris scampered off quickly, still a bit hesitant, but obedient nonetheless. Atkins opened his mouth to say something, but Nathaniel was already gone from the room.

-

Richmond was a beautiful place, and ideal for the living quarters of a person in a position of power, such as Devereaux. Elegant trees lined the roadway to the mansion, branches hanging over the stone and causing shadows to dance skittishly across the surface of the path. Bushes of remarkable pedigree were planted by the trees, and wildlife was abundant.

At any other time, Nathaniel would have taken this all in happily, but now was different. His job would soon be put on the line, no doubt, as it was whenever he visited Richmond. He was still a target of other politicians, and if it weren't for his quick wit, he would have been forced to resign years ago.

Bartimaeus sat quietly next to him, not even bothering to spit out a few annoying quips as he usually did. He had chosen the form of a fox for now, which pleased Nathaniel. He wanted to make sure those blundering idiots he worked with knew that he was far more intellectual and powerful than they.

The car drifted to a stop outside of an elaborate mansion, and Nathaniel threw open the door hurriedly. The fox jumped out after him, and he lingered slightly before closing it. "Thank you, James."

The car drove away, and he now found himself completely alone, save for Bartimaeus, outside the home of one of the most powerful men in the world. He'd never get over the nervous feeling that accumulated in his stomach, he had decided, since after all, Richmond was a place where only the great resided. It was normal to feel anxious when in the company of the mighty.

He ascended the marble steps to the large doors and grabbed the knocker with his right hand. Taking a deep breath, he knocked it loudly against the door.

A few seconds passed, and a butler finally let him in. "Hello, Mr. Mandrake. Mr. Devereaux and his associates are waiting for you in the lounge."

"Thank you," Nathaniel said a bit too hastily as he stepped into the house. Artwork decorated the walls, and he would have stopped to admire it if his situation hadn't been as it was.

He found his way to the lounge, a nice little parlor tucked away in the back of the estate, where most magicians of power, except for him, were sitting around a large table. Their breakfasts were still in front of them, and in the case of one Marmadruke Fry, their breakfasts were on their shirts, too.

"Mandrake!"

Nathaniel bowed his head slightly. "Mr. Devereaux, sir. I'm sorry for my tardiness."

The Prime Minister waved his hand casually to dismiss the statement. "Do not worry about that quite yet, my fellow. Please, sit."

Nathaniel obliged, taking a seat next to Fry, and another butler soon approached him. "Breakfast, sir?" he asked.

"No thank you," came Nathaniel's response. He had already settled in quite fairly, and had not had a single slip of the tongue at the moment. No matter what anyone else said, John Mandrake would always be known for maintaining his cool under pressure.

The rest of the group finished up their meals, with the exception of Fry, and Devereaux soon called the meeting to order.

"Well, my friends, I think we all know why we are here," he stated. All eyes around the table were focused on him intently, even those of Bartimaeus. "We are assembled to discuss the disappearance of one Archway, and the uprising of a new Resistance. Now, I would like for Mr. Mandrake to brief us on exactly what we're dealing with, since he is in charge of both of these issues."

Nathaniel shot out of his seat at the mention of his name, eager to make a good impression on his boss. "Thank you, Mr. Devereaux, sir."

He straightened his collar a bit before continuing. "This item that has been stolen is known, as our leader has said, as the Arch, or Archway. From the information we found in the museum's files, it originated in Egypt, and was most likely a project of one of the pharaohs. We believe it could have been a weapon of war, although its true purpose and capabilities are unknown, but from our observations, it is an item of extreme magical potency."

"A weapon of war? What, like a bomb or something?" one of the ministers said, echoing Morris's thoughts from earlier in the morning.

"Er, we are not sure of that at the moment."

Another minister scowled. "Why not? This is your job, isn't it?"

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed in on the minister who had spoken up. He should try doing his job, the slimy piece of... "Well, it is not my fault if the museum itself has little information on the artifacts in its possession, which I believe is _your_ job, Mr. Hectors." The minister, now identified as Hectors, glared icily at Nathaniel. "And at the moment, I have not had sufficient time to research the Archway, as I was called here minutes after I arrived at the scene."

"What about the Resistance?" piped up Fry, pausing from his consumption of his breakfast for long enough to speak. "Could they have done this?"

"That brings me to my next subject: the Resistance. At the moment, we suspect them of stealing the Archway, as it looks as if it were a multiple person job by the sheer size of the item. I have already dispatched a few members of my department to track them down, as we were close to doing just a few days ago but circumstances changed and our luck turned for the worse." Images of Ffoukes confessing to murdering the Resistance member filled his head. "But we are not worried, for we think we have gotten a new lead that will lead to their capture."

There was a brief silence at the table and Devereaux was about to say something else when someone spoke up. "It's quite odd, isn't it? An artifact of amazing magical capabilities that we know nothing about being stolen by those who despise magic. Quite the ironic situation, if you ask me."

Quentin Makepeace was sitting a little ways off from the group, twirling in his chair energetically, a broad grin on his face. Nathaniel allowed the playwright a small smile. "Yes, it is quite odd, Mr. Makepeace, although that is not particularly what we are interested in at the moment."

Makepeace smriked back, the comment bouncing off of him like a rock skipping over water. Devereaux stood and cleared his throat in an authoritative manner.

"Thank you, Mandrake," he said. Nathaniel tilted his head in recognition and sat in his seat promptly, ears attentive. "Now, that was all very informative and our situation is a bit clearer, but we still have a question yet to be answered: how are we going to catch this Resistance and find out if they stole the artifact?"

There was another momentary silence.

"We could try baiting them out of hiding?" suggested Hectors. "I'm sure I could get Parks to come up with a rather attractive display for them to come after."

Devereaux thought for a few moments. "It is a good idea, but it could take a while for it to be executed. And what if this Arch is all they were after?"

Another minister's hand shot into the air. "Oh, I've got it! We could disguise people that they might want to recruit and catch them in the act!"

"We've already tried that. It seems they can see right through demons' guises, and the human agents we send usually wind up missing."

Suddenly, Nathaniel stood up. "I can go undercover and get them, sir. We already came close once and had actually tracked down a member before he died without warning, and we have another suspect we're tracking. I have no doubt we can catch them, especially if I go into the field. I'm smart enough to disguise myself well, and I won't get myself killed anytime soon."

Devereaux thought over the proposal for a few moments. Nathaniel, or John Mandrake, was known as one of the brightest ministers, so no doubt he could pull it off.

"Very well," he said. "But please, Mandrake, catch them soon. We can't have something like this on our hands."

Nathaniel nodded. "Don't worry, sir. I will."

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **The plot's moving along quite smoothly at this point, and things are going faster than planned. The whole Bartimaeus thing was something I knew had to happen from the beginning- face it, Nathaniel and Bartimaeus are the best team you can ask for, although they'd argue that point- and I liked my ministers meeting.

**Next Chapter: **In _Day of Recovery_, Kitty and the Resistance try to regroup after losing one of their own, but that's easier said than done.


	9. Day of Recovery

Okay, I'm sorry. Really. I promise. I tried and I tried, but the words wouldn't go to the page, so to speak, and I was extremely busy. Everything should start to wind down in a week or two, though.

But on a lighter note, Chapter 10 turned out well. But I'll talk about that later.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Bartiamaeus Trilogy _or Jimmy Eat World's "Work". Also, "Day of Recovery" isn't my term, either, but more about that later, and neither is "Training Day", obviously. That was the title to Chapter 6.

**Chapter Nine  
**Day of Recovery

"_**All I can say,  
**__**I should've said.  
**__**Can we take a ride?  
**__**Get out of this place  
**__**While we still have time."  
**__**-Jimmy Eat World's **"Work"_

The cellar room was silent save for the trickling of contaminated water from a cracked pipe, the liquid falling onto the hard cement in loud, obnoxious drips. No one dared to talk at the moment; no one knew what to say. What they had seen had been horrifying, scarring, and worse, it was real. This wasn't some television show. This was life.

Of the entire group, Kitty, their so-called "leader", was the quietest. She had been the one to find him floating in the Thames, and she was the one whose clothes were doused with his blood. She had been fearless, relentless in guiding the group through their rocky beginning, but now, as she sat mute and shaken, it was clear. She was still a teenager, and at a time when other girls her age were worrying about clothing and boys, she was worrying about survival, and overthrowing a corrupt government.

And so they sat for quite a while, not a single word being spoken, just sitting in silence. They needed time to think to themselves about all of this, what it meant, what it forewarned them of, and why it had happened.

After many more minutes of this, Jack stood up from his seat quietly. "I've got to go to work."

No one said anything in reply. He headed to the door and was about to leave when he turned back, face grim.

"Look, before I go, will you promise me that you'll at least talk about it?" His eyes glinted worriedly. "I know it'll be hard, and I'm no psychologist, but I think it'll help."

After a few seconds of contemplation, Glen finally nodded.

"All right," he said, his voice emitting as a long croak after not being used for a long while. "We'll talk. Don't worry."

Jack smiled slightly and checked his watch again. "I've really got to go if I want to catch the night shift, but thanks. Trust me, it'll help."

With that, he opened the door and disappeared into the darkness. The door closed weakly behind him, and the rest of the team was left to themselves.

"I'm not exactly sure how to do this, but I guess we should start talking now instead of later," Glen stated. He folded his hands over his knees and leaned forward in his chair, the poor lighting of the room flickering off his graying hair. "Uh, does anyone want to start us off?"

Elliot's hand shot into the air, and Glen sighed. "This isn't school, Elliot. Just say what you think."

Elliot's hand lowered, but his shocked look remained.

"What the _hell_ happened back there?"

Glen blinked. It was a simple question, one none of them were thinking of at the moment, but it was probably the best. What _had _happened at the river?

"Honestly, I have no clue whatsoever."

Elliot frowned. "Well, that's just dandy, isn't it?" he snapped sarcastically.

Glen glared at him and was on the brink of getting out of his seat to give the younger man a good slap upside the head when Clarice's voice cut through the air.

"Let's look at it logically, and try to put all of the events in place," she suggested. The eyes in the room darted to her. "Using the information we've all gathered, we can at least figure out some of this."

"What, we're going to piece this together?" Katherine piped up.

Clarice nodded towards her. "Basically, yes."

"Like a puzzle or something?"

"Whatever floats your boat, sweetheart." She looked to the others. "Now, we should probably start at the beginning, the event that got us into this mess: Dylan killing the magician. Who can add anything on that?"

"I think," Joel said slowly and deliberately, "that Jack said Dylan had told him the magician's name. It was Ross Samuel or Samuel Ross or something like that."

Clarice smiled. "Good. That's progress. Now, where did he attack this mysterious Mr. Ross/Samuel?"

"It was either a library or a fast-food restaurant."

"Most likely a library," Thomas, the youngest of the group, remarked. "Magicians may be selfish pigs, but you won't catch one dead anywhere near a hamburger."

Glen's face contorted irritably. This was going much too slowly. "So, he murdered a guy- whose name was some combination of Ross and Samuel- outside a library. Wow, that really helps us."

"It does," Clarice said carefully. "Baby steps, Glen. Now, what happened at the shop Dylan worked at?"

"Magicians came," Yasmin replied from her seat in a corner of the room. "They interviewed employees, asked for information about Dylan, and left." She paused. "Hold on, I think they left separately."

Clarice looked quite pleased. "Good. And then what happened?"

"I was over at Jack's with Dylan right before he jetted." Joel stood up and began pacing around the room, his chin cradled in his fingers thoughtfully. "There was this guy in a suit, like a salesman or something, who kept trying to sell us stuff and he'd always look in real hopefully to see stuff in the flat. But I caught traces of magic around him and Jack thought he saw part of a demon, so we made sure Dylan stayed in a back room. But then I left, and Dylan ran after he got Yasmin's news."

Yasmin's head craned upwards eagerly. "Hold on, what did this salesman look like?"

"I dunno. He was medium height, I guess, pale, neat hair, too."

Her face lit up. "That was one of the magician's that came to the shop! He didn't have a demon with him at the time, but I think he's Mandrake's assistant, the one Clarice said had an advanced summoning book with him."

If Clarice was pleased earlier, then she was ecstatic after hearing this. "It seems we have our first suspect. What occurred next?"

Glen rocked in his chair lightly, biting his fingernails. "We came back here," he stated, "and we met about the situation. We split up and started searching for Dylan, and we found his blood in an alleyway. We thought something inhuman had done it, so I guess it was a higher level demon. And then, we jumped in the Thames, but really, only Kitty can tell us what happened."

He looked towards the young woman meaningfully. She had been quiet the entirety of the discussion, resolute to say nothing and share nothing. She stared at the ground in front of her blankly before speaking.

"I was swimming, looking for him, and none of us were having any success." She paused as the wetness in her eyes caused her to blink. "Jack said something about Katherine's accuracy being off-"

"Bastard," Katherine breathed.

"-And I was about to say something back when I noticed my clothes had red on them." Her voice began to get dangerously high at this point, and she coughed. "And I looked down, and I saw him. He was just floating there, blood and all, and I remember hearing Clarice yell and I swam away. After that, I don't really remember what happened."

It was silent in the cellar. Again, no one knew quite what to say.

"Well, I think we have our killer." Catherine looked around the room feebly. "Now we just have to catch him."

-

Her hands moved deftly across the slicing board, the onions falling to pieces beneath her blade. Cooking really was a good past time, and a productive one at that. It made sure she always had plenty of energy, and more importantly, it allowed her to think about more pressing matters.

She hadn't handled herself well at all at the meeting. She'd been out of it, completely and utterly lost. If they wished to succeed in creating a new life for those who followed them, there would be moments where the pressure would mount, and if she cracked like she had today, they were doomed.

But on a positive note, the others had shown they didn't depend on her to function. They'd been asking Kitty everything, leaning on her, and she had been their rock, their voice of reason. But even when she crumbled, they'd shown that they could take the reigns and run the operation themselves, and to tell the truth, they had done just that, and quite well, in fact. There was hope, which was more than they could say for other things.

Kitty cut herself on the blade, and she swore as she brought her finger to her mouth and sucked the blood from the wound. The salty, metallic taste stung her taste buds, and she felt a bit dizzy. And then she looked down.

A miniscule pool of blood lay next to the chopped vegetables, sitting there calmly and peacefully. But it brought back memories she didn't want to revisit, memories she wanted to move past, and images of the floating body filled her mind again.

A sharp rapping at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she sighed and wiped her finger off on a towel, throwing it in the sink and walking to the door. She peered through the peephole quickly and unlatched the lock. The door opened, revealing the forms of Jack and Glen.

"Hey," Glen greeted her quietly. Jack looked a bit shaken beside him, and was chewing a piece of gum nervously. "Can we come in?"

"Sure."

They stepped into the flat silently. Walking into the living area, they took a seat on the sofa.

"I'm making dinner if you want any," Kitty called as she entered the kitchen and picked up the knife again. The onions began seperating easily once more.

Glen looked up. "We're good. We just need to talk."

"What about?"

Jack swallowed his gum and sighed. "I got a visit from Mandrake at work today."

Kitty cut herself again upon hearing this, and vivid curses were heard throughout the apartment. Dropping the knife, she stared at her comrade.

"What?"

"He came to the museum," Jack said blandly. "It seems some arch was stolen, so they stuck him on it. Parks kept calling me over to fetch stuff, and I kind of froze up when Mandrake started studying me. He was looking at me all weird, too. I think he suspects something."

Kitty frowned. Mandrake. "Are you sure?"

"No, but I've got a pretty bad feeling about it all. You didn't see how he looked at me. I felt like at was being looked at from under a microscope or something."

Kitty leaned against the counter and thought. This certainly wasn't good. "Well," she replied, "we're just going to have to figure this out, too. Maybe he won't visit again if he got all the evidence he needs."

"Maybe." Jack looked at his watch again. "I should probably be going."

He headed to the door, but Glen held up a hand. "I'll walk with you, just hold on a second." Standing up, he walked next to Kitty and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Don't think so," he said quietly, observing her carefully. "We need you to be alright."

"I will be, don't worry."

Glen looked her over one last time before nodding and clapping her softly on the shoulder. "Okay."

He walked to the door where Jack was standing and the door opened with a creak, closing once more, leaving Kitty to her thoughts. Picking up the knife, she returned to her onions once more. This certainly gave her much, much more to think about. Well, she'd be eating a lot in the weeks to come, at least.

There was a sudden noise outside the apartment and a loud yell, and Kitty cut herself once again, the knife falling to her side. But she didn't even bother to curse this time, because someone else seemed to be in much worse trouble.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **I liked this chapter. Not much happens, but there's some character insight on the Resistance, and we really get to see who they are, also. It directly ties in with the next chapter, of course, but really, they're two sides to the same story. I'm extremely fond (at the moment) of both of them. Anyway, "Day of Recovery" was the name of an episode of _X-Men: Evolution_. It's one of my favorite episodes of any show ever, and it's very awesome. Just so you know.

**Next Chapter: **In _Deus Ex Machina_, Nathaniel returns from his successful meeting at Richmond along with Bartimaeus. But just as it seems he gets to relax for a second or two, he's summoned once more. What has Morris been up to? And what did Kitty hear?


	10. Deus Ex Machina

Hey, I'm on time this week. This was largely due to the fact I dropped my other long-running fic for various reasons and can now focus on this more intently. This is good for you guys- at least, I think it is.

**Disclaimer: **I. Do. Not. Own. _The Bartimaeus Trilogy_. Nor. Will. I. Ever.

**Chapter Ten  
**Deus Ex Machina

**_"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple." –Dr. Seuss_**

The rumbling of the car engine filled the mid-morning air as the vehicle rumbled along the well-worn road. Nathaniel was staring thoughtfully out the window when I interrupted his thoughts.

"Undercover, eh?"

He turned, caught unaware by the sudden sound. "Oh, I see you're talking now," he remarked.

"Yeah." I stretched out lazily in my seat and yawned. "I got a bit bored with the whole non-talking thing. Jeez, you'd think it would be easy to not be verbose for a little while."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Verbose?"

"Hey, I can use big words, too," I replied, annoyed at his stupidity. "Don't look so surprised. After all, I am, oh, five thousand years older than you."

"I don't remember contesting that," he said. A smug grin that I desired greatly to knock all the way to Timbuktu appeared on his face. "I was just pointing out your interesting use of words."

I snorted. "My interesting use of words? Have you heard yourself talk?" I shifted in my seat, my head propping forward angrily at the little prat. "I mean, really, you don't say 'arguing', you say 'contesting'. And that was just after you thought that I used weird English."

"Hm."

I shook my head and crossed my legs in my seat once more. Admittedly, I was a tad bit annoyed that he had gotten me so riled up, but this was Nathaniel. He was the perfect genetic example of a pain in the arse. It must've taken some serious work from those chromosomes to make him so damn irritating.

"We're almost there, Mr. Mandrake," stated the oh-so-pompous chauffeur from the driver's seat. I made a mental note to tease Nathaniel about his name at a later time. Come on, Mandrake? What is this, pottery class?

The car pulled up to a large apartment complex; I imagine each flat could've held its own against the largest houses in the area, but no, houses weren't trendy. They were for commoners and the weak. Now flats, on the other hand, were fashionable. You didn't own your property; you paid some greedy landlord to own it. Yep, magicians had it all figured out.

"Thank you, James," Nathaniel muttered as he threw the door open and burst out of the car, flying up the steps and into his home as if his heels were on fire. I reluctantly followed, giving the door an unnecessary slam to shut it on my way out. That would show him. Hmph.

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I entered the flat from all of the light reflecting off of the dozens of glass and mirrored furniture pieces. I had to give it to Nathaniel: the place was huge. And from what I could see, it had a very respectable mini-bar, too. If he had any social skills whatsoever, this guy would be extremely popular with the ladies. But alas, the kid's about as entertaining as a dead llama. He kills the party and then he stinks it up for a little while longer.

He buzzed about the room at light-speed, switching from one activity to another at a rate that surely couldn't be human. I took a seat on the mini-bar counter and prepared myself for a long, boring day.

But then, the phone rang, and my plans went straight out the window.

Nathaniel hurried over to the phone and picked it up, shoving it in between his neck and his shoulder. "Hello, John Mandrake speaking."

Someone said something on the other end, and Nathaniel sighed. "Hold on a second, I think my phone's not working. Let me put you over the speakerphone."

He clicked a button and set the phone down. A male's voice filled the cavernous living room. "John? It's Morris."

"Oh, hello," Nathaniel greeted anxiously. However, it appeared his colleague was much more antsy.

"I need you over here, pronto."

"Uh, why?"

I listened attentively; you never knew when you would pick up something useful to bug your master about. "I tracked that guy you were talking about down, and then he met up with this other guy, a bit older. I could've sworn they said something about you and then about that Haliben kid, and some more, but they looked back and I had to hide in a trashcan. Let me tell you, I smell horrible right now. I'm definitely not clubbing tonight. Anyway, I followed them here, to this commoners' housing duplex, by that fish and chips restaurant. You know, the one right by your house."

"Are they still in the house?" Nathaniel asked.

"Yeah, but they've been in there for a while. No doubt they'll be leaving soon."

He shot up from his position against the wall. "I be there as soon as I can."

He didn't bother to hang up on Morris and instead hurried out of his house. I trailed behind him, and followed him all the way to the street.

"Hold on," I said. "Aren't you going to wait for a cab or something? What about that James guy?"

"No time for that. James is gone, and cabs don't usually come by here."

I was skeptical. "What are we supposed to do, then?"

"We do what the Resistance has always done," he replied. "We run."

With that, he began sprinting in the opposite direction, and I turned into a large eagle to keep up with him. It was quite a funny sight, Nathaniel running, and if we weren't in such an urgent situation I would have laughed very loudly right there. Actually, I did let one chuckle slip. A few pedestrians gave me odd stares for that.

Finally he stopped outside a large building, the sign reading: "Fishin' With a Chip." Creative. He spotted Morris and hurried over to him behind a dumpster (what is it with this guy and trash?). I perched above them on a power line.

"They're in there?" I heard him inquire.

"Yep. I'm positive they're Resistance members. They have to be, with all they know about the crimes."

Nathaniel patted the teen on the back. "Good job," he commented. "Now we'll just have to catch them in red-handed."

It was awkwardly silent for a minute or two. Clearly, neither of the dunderheads had expected to wait for their triumphant seizure of the Resistance.

"I checked the tapes."

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows in a knowing sort of way, and I dearly wanted to mimic the pigeons and give him a nice, white present. But, you know, I was an eagle. Pride caught up to me. "Huh," he said.

"They were all scrambled for about an hour or two, from one in the morning to three," Morris stated. "They just keep playing over and over, and at one point, all of these weird images pop up on the screen. The images look sort of polarized, like the camera's malfunctioning, and then they stop. But there are no leads there."

"Just our luck."

I ruffled my feathers importantly; there had been a sound at the door. "Shut it, I think they're coming."

The two ducked just as another pair emerged from the flat. One was a youngster, and the boy Morris had been sent to follow. The other was considerably older, a middle-aged man who looked like someone you might find at a local pub. No doubt he was Irish, or worse: Scottish.

"She's not alright," the older one muttered.

Morris nearly jumped from his seat. "_She_?"

Nathaniel slapped a hand over his trainee's mouth just as the boy replied. "No, do you honestly think so, Glen? What gave it away?"

"Don't give me lip," the man now identified as Glen growled. "I'm still your elder, and I still carry a gun."

"A gun?" Morris mouthed. Heh, seems I was right about the whole pub thing. And the Scottish thing, too. In fact, there may have been a speck of red in his mostly gray beard.

"Whatever," the boy, Jack, responded. "I'm worried about her, though. We need her."

Glen grunted. "We can hold our own, but she is a feisty leader." Feisty? Yep, definitely Scottish. Or Irish. "Besides, I think your interest in her well-being may be a bit biased."

It was definitely a teasing comment, and Jack took it somewhat personally. "It's _not_ like that, as you know. She's my friend, nothing more. Just because we're the same age doesn't mean that-"

"Don't get your panties all tied up," the alleged Scot interrupted. "It was a joke. Besides, I've seen the way you stare at Katherine."

"Go to hell, Glen. Go to hell."

The man chuckled, but then his face turned much more serious. "We've got a lot of ground to cover, though. Dylan… well, his timing was inconvenient. We were just starting to get on our feet."

Dylan? Wasn't that the idiot who pissed off the magicians?

"And besides," he continued, "if we want to even scratch those bastard magicians, we're going to have to recruit much more aggressively. The Resistance isn't near large enough. What do we have, ten members?"

Hoho, he'd just said the magic word. I think Nathaniel nearly wet himself after hearing "Resistance".

"Stop!" Nathaniel cried, leaping from behind the dumpster and holding out a warning hand. "You're under arrest for treason!"

The boy moaned. "Oh, bloody hell."

Meanwhile, his cohort was much more alert. "Why, what are you going to do, send a mouler after us?" His strong words were betrayed by his slightly wavering voice. "Who knows, it'll probably be a good workout."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't do that," Nathaniel said with his trademark smirk as Morris crept up beside him anxiously. "Not a big, bad mouler. How about something more… sophisticated?"

Either that was my cue, or Nathaniel really enjoyed the position-of-power situation way too much. Guessing it was the former, I swooped down from the skies and knocked the boy off of his feet.

"Sorry, kid," I quipped. "This is exactly why you don't join gangs. Or do drugs."

Glen moved to pull his gun from his jacket, but I threw my wing at him and caught him surprised. "Long wings are handy, aren't they?"

However he grabbed onto my feathers, and I could feel my essence burn like a bee was stinging me.

"Resilience?" I smirked (something that's very, very difficult to do when you have a beak). "I've seen better. I think I'm a little out of your league."

I threw him to the side quite easily and was about to enwrap him in some rather nasty and/or powerful binding spell that I had yet to think of when I felt something hard hit my skull. Damn high-tops.

"Get away, demon!"

Okay, so that was three things that hurt at the moment. The high-tops hitting my head, being called a demon, and the considerable resilience I felt coming out of this unseen newcomer.

I hit the pavement hard, dazed from the sudden air support. Whoa, I hadn't been expecting that at all. Definite cheap shot. I was just getting into my arrogant victory routine, also. I'd wiped the floor with the first two, and now what do I get? Someone with stronger opposition to my essence and a bump on my head.

I got up a bit groggily (hey, it was a cheap shot) and stumbled around a bit before I realized what was going on. But it was too late: the three had already disappeared, and Morris and Nathaniel were sprawled against the dumpster unceremoniously. Talk about quick disposal.

"Where'd they go?"

Morris shook his head. "No idea. But my head hurts."

"That helps," I said sarcastically. I nodded to Nathaniel. "Is he okay, or do we need to take him to a hospital?"

Morris checked his boss, who was suddenly quiet, hurriedly and shrugged. "He seems alright. Looks a little out of it, though."

"Well, that's just Nathaniel for you."

Suddenly, my master stirred. "Ugh… ghost… dead… liar…"

"What?" Morris asked. I was caught off guard, also. Maybe he'd been knocked senseless.

"Ghost… the ghost… liar…"

I looked at him inquisitively. What the hell was going on around here? If there was a ghost, I was calling an exorcist immediately. "Who's a ghost? Who's a liar?"

Nathaniel moaned. "You're a liar…"

"What?"

He stared at me wearily. "Kitty Jones… she's alive."

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **A big turning point in the entire story- and I'm talking _entire_- right here. Bartimaeus was, as always, extremely fun to write, and now things get really interesting.

**Next Chapter: **In _Devils and Dust_, Nathaniel must decide how he will deal with all of this. What happened? Why is Morris talking to Jane Farrar? And what is Makepeace doing in Whitehall?


	11. Devils and Dust

I'm late, I know. But I've been bogged down even more, which I don't think is fair, seeing as it's the end of school. But whatever.

Chapter Twelve looks to be the best chapter yet, and I really like it. And it eclipses 3000 words, the first chapter to do so for this fic, so hopefully that'll make up for this.

By the way, has anyone elseseen the _Goblet of Fire_ preview? All I can say is that November should come five months earlier in the year. Supposedly, Miramax is making a Barty film (well, Stroud has said it multiple times), but I don't really trust them. I say they just give it to the good folks at WB and let Alfonso and Mike do their directorial work.

**Disclaimer: **Now, honestly, haven't we gone over this? I don't own the trilogy, don't sue.

**Chapter Eleven  
**Devils and Dust

"_**I've got my finger on the trigger.  
**__**Tonight faith just ain't enough.  
**__**And I look inside my heart:  
**__**There's just devils and dust."  
**__**-Bruce Springsteen's **"Devils and Dust"_

Morris seemed to be the only member of the odd trio not particularly affected by the statement. "Hold on… who's alive? Who's Nathaniel? _What_?"

"She's alive," Nathaniel continued in a quiet voice. His eyes had locked themselves on the eagle. "You lied to me. Kitty Jones is alive."

Bartimaeus regained himself and his unperturbed appearance took over once more. "I didn't lie. I resent that you would say that."

"But it's true," Nathaniel pressed on, his anger growing inside his chest. Bartimaeus had led him on, and it could have cost him dearly. "You said she had died fighting the golem, but she never did die, did she?"

"You've gone completely bonkers."

"No, I haven't." A fierce fire burned within Nathaniel, even though the rest of his body was tired and hurting. "You said she hadn't survived just to spite me, and it was rather convenient, wasn't it? The search spheres had gone into hiding during the fight. You can't even say she wasn't. I just saw her detain all of us with my own two eyes."

The djinni observed him warily with one open eye. His feathers remained unruffled.

"Morris," Nathaniel said, "I think you should go hail us a cab."

Morris nodded. It was clear that this was not his business. "Got it." He paused before turning back reluctantly. "Hold on, who's Nathaniel?"

"That's not important right now," Nathaniel snapped, and Morris recoiled slightly, but his eyes were still suspicious. Still, he knew that he had hit a touchy point.

And he left, leaving the two completely alone in the alley behind the flats. Nathaniel sat up against the dumpster, as his strength had already been replenished somewhat.

"Why?"

Bartimaeus stared at him stonily. "Because, she deserved something better. I didn't do it to spite you. I did it to help her. If you had known… she would have been captured by now, probably, when there are probably a good many folk that deserve to go to the Tower that you magicians have completely ignored." He picked at his plumage proudly for a few seconds before continuing. "I do have some compassion, Nat. Don't be so surprised."

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry. It was just hard to see it through all of the sarcasm."

"Maybe I'll try harder, then, _Nathaniel_," Bartimaeus replied darkly.

Nathaniel was prevented from any sort of response when Morris appeared from behind the dumpster. "I got the cab. You guys ready to go?"

The young magician threw one last glare at the djinni before nodding and following his trainee. "Yes," he said, "we are."

They walked in silence to the taxi and finally squeezed in as Nathaniel took up the passenger seat and Morris and Bartimaeus took up the back. As they drove away, they never suspected that someone had been listening in on them, or otherwise, the mood would have been even grimmer.

-

"Yes, sir, we are trying our best. No, sir, we are not Czech spies. Yes, we will find your cat as soon as we can. Don't worry, we'll get Mr. Hankins back to you in no time."

Nathaniel hung up the phone with a sigh. Was this what they had been reduced to, a pet-catching department? With as shake of his head, he turned to more pressing matters.

So, Kitty Jones was alive and well, it seemed, and possibly heading the Resistance. He should have expected as much, especially when Bartimaeus was his sole witness. It was a bit of a touchy issue with both of them, but particularly Nathaniel. This girl had saved his life for no reason, even when he had betrayed her trust. She really was a tricky specimen.

How had she survived? How could she, a mere commoner, defeat a golem? Granted, she had resilience to magic as he had deduced, but that shouldn't have accounted for that- should it have?

The shock had begun to wear off, but it was still something he couldn't quite grasp. She shouldn't be alive. It wasn't that he didn't want her to be. He wasn't sure about that, actually. It was just that she had been dead, to him, at least, for so long, and the fact that she was living was a bit unsettling.

"John?" It was Morris.

"Yeah?" he said in response.

Morris held up a stack of papers. "Well, I've got some stuff, but I think I deserve an explanation. Who is Nathaniel, and what does he have to do with this?"

Nathaniel sighed. "I am Nathaniel," he admitted in a low voice, carefully making sure no one was outside the door. No one was. "Bartimaeus seems to have let my name slip at some point while I was incapacitated. I suppose he wasn't intending to (he probably still doesn't realize that he did), and that is most likely why he hasn't been burned to crisps by the Shriveling Fire for disobeying orders. Oh, wait a second, I never did order him to not say my name, did I?"

"Yeah, he did." Morris shrugged and looked noncommittal. He decided to ignore the last two sentences of Nathaniel's miniature speech. "Look, don't worry about it. Everyone knows my real name."

His superior raised an eyebrow. "I don't." His eyes widened. "Unless… Your real name isn't Morris, is it?"

"Yep. I mean, people think, 'Who would be stupid enough to make their real name part of their given name? That's so stupid.' So they never even expect it." He held up the stack of papers once more, but Nathaniel was hardly paying attention. His name was Morris? " And also, turning back to business, I've got that research you wanted me to get for you. There haven't been any records of Kathleen Jones since her supposed death two years ago, which I guess isn't surprising. She wouldn't be a very good criminal if she still went by the same name, I guess."

"Oh. Then we'll have to find her alias and- oh, hello, Ms. Farrar."

None other than the one Jane Farrar was standing tall in the doorway next to Morris, a smug grin on her face. "Hello, John. I heard you've been sent to do undercover work. Not normal for the head of a department, is it?"

Her voice was laced with malice, which Nathaniel took in full stride. "Oh, not usually. But I'm not the normal minister, I suppose, and I _did_ offer my services. Anything for my country, right?"

"Hm, I suppose," Farrar said offhandedly. She glanced at Morris doubtfully. "Who's this, your servant?"

Morris jumped slightly at her addressing of him and smiled awkwardly. "Only if you want me to be, sweet thing." He gave her an approving look-over with one eye. "Hey, you look a bit hungry. I know a pub we could hit up if you're in the mood-"

"Morris!" Nathaniel hissed. Morris shook his head slightly and looked back to the youngest of the group.

"Oh, right. Sorry, boss."

Farrar gave him one last glance before slowly backing out of the room. On the upside, Morris's sudden flirting with Nathaniel's rival had caught her off guard. At first, he had thought she'd put a Charm on the technician, but she seemed too repulsed to even think of such a thing. "Well, I think I should be leaving…"

She disappeared into the hustle of Whitehall and Nathaniel glared at his pupil. "What the hell was that?"

"What?" Morris replied wearily.

"What, you ask?" Nathaniel exclaimed irritably. He rubbed his eyes with passionate furor. "You were hitting on her as if you were playing cricket, you fool!"

"Settle down, it was just a little fun." Morris smirked. "And besides, you know you could sense the raw animal attraction I had over her. She wanted me."

Nathaniel cradled his head in his hands and breathed in deeply. Could he not catch a break? "Sure, whatever you say. Just don't do that anymore. It's scary to watch."

"While I hate to interrupt this, I've got some news," said Bartimaeus, now in the form of Ptolemy, as he strolled into the room. "Quentin Makepeace will be dropping by soon to see you, Mandrake. He says he has to talk with you about something."

"Where have you been?" Nathaniel inquired bluntly. Bartimaeus sat down tiredly.

"Finding out stuff, as usual." He allowed himself a small smile at this. "What, I can't do what I'm supposed to do anymore?"

Nathaniel made a noncommittal noise and returned to his papers. "No, it's just surprising."

"Talk about uptight," Bartimaeus whispered to Morris, who nodded. "Is it really that big of a deal?"

"Not right now, it isn't," Nathaniel cut him off icily. "But it could have been."

"Coulda, shoulda, woulda."

There was a knock at the door and Nathaniel sighed as he shuffled the work on his desk one final time. "Come in," he beckoned.

The door swung open, revealing the bouncing form of the playwright Quentin Makepeace. He waved at Nathaniel and took a seat in front of his desk. "Hello, John. I hope you're doing well."

"Quite, Mr. Makepeace."

"I trust you've seen _The Guild of Anubis_," Makepeace stated happily.

Nathaniel nodded. "Yes, I have." He cleared his throat professionally and pushed his pens into place on his desk. "I had to say, it was different from your other plays but still kept my interest just as well."

"Well, thank you, it is always glad to hear back from the fans." Makepeace's smile was considerably larger now. In fact, he was beaming with delight.

"You wanted to see me?" Nathaniel said. It was like him to get straight to business. No beating around the bush in these parts.

"Oh, yes, I did, didn't I?" The eccentric man seemed a bit lost at the moment, but he eventually regained his composure. "Oh, right. I have heard that there has been an interesting development in your pursuit of the Resistance. Is this true?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "Well, I am going into the field a bit more, but I'm not sure if that's interesting."

"No, not that. I've heard about that." Makepeace leaned closer, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear what he had to say. "I'm talking about a certain person… Kitty Jones, I believe?"

Nathaniel's throat tightened. How on earth had he heard about that? "Yes, sir, what about her?"

"I heard she's not as dead as we believed she was," replied Makepeace simply.

"That is true."

Makepeace raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Oh, really? Have you told anyone?"

"No, I haven't," responded Nathaniel quietly. What was Makepeace getting at? He certainly wasn't making any sense. He was acting even more oddly than usual. "How did you hear?"

"I have my contacts," Makepeace said with a wink. "Contacts who also believe they know where the Resistance will strike next."

The minister shot forward in his seat. "Really?"

The quirkier of the two chuckled. "Yes, really. You look as if Christmas has come early, my dear fellow! You clearly are much too enamored with your job."

"Where will they strike next?" Nathaniel pressed forward urgently. Makepeace regarded him with a dull gaze, a smile playing at his lips.

"Well, it's pure speculation, but…" He scooted his chair closer to his acquaintance and gave Morris a suspicious glance before turning back to Nathaniel. "Do you know of the harbor close to the collection of warehouses just a few minutes away?"

Nathaniel racked his mental map of the city before nodding enthusiastically. "Yes. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, my sources say that the Resistance believe that there are weapons onboard the _Paix Fausse_, a ship docked at the boat. This is completely untrue, of course, seeing as the _Paix Fausse _carries fish to the Continent and back, but to each their own, I guess. Anyway, they plan to seize the ship on the twenty-fourth. Of course, this would be the opportune time to seize them."

Nathaniel thought over the proposal carefully. "You're right. I will alert Devereaux immediately."

"No," Makepeace said firmly. "You will not. Think of it this way: if you get the Empire involved, it'll be blown out of proportion, the ship will be searched, and the Resistance and this Kitty girl will be scared away. Also, from your standpoint, why would you? If you catch these renegades, it'll skyrocket your entire career. You've doubtlessly heard of how the wars are going in the colonies. If you catch the Resistance, I'm sure Devereaux will look at you very carefully as a general in the Americas."

"Oh, so that's what this is all about," Bartimaeus mused quietly from his seat next to Morris. Nathaniel ignored him, instead weighing over each option in his mind. Both had their plus sides. On one hand, he might be ridiculed if he didn't tell the Empire. On the other hand, the possibilities were endless if he decided to go solo.

"What do you say?"

The young minister looked up slowly. "It's an intriguing offer, Mr. Makepeace ."

"Well," said his associate, "intriguing doesn't get people very far in life."

Nathaniel nodded deliberately. "Exactly. I will do what you said; the upside is far too great to turn down such an offer." He bowed his head slightly towards the playwright. "Thank you, Mr. Makepeace. Your assistance has been invaluable."

Makepeace grinned and stood as he shook Nathaniel's hand energetically. "No, thank _you_, John."

He spun around without another word, leaving the three alone in the spacious office. Nathaniel sighed and fell into his seat as he rubbed his temples ferociously. A robbery, a meeting with the most powerful people in England, a girl returning from the dead, real names slipping out, and now this.

What a day.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **I like the tension between Barty and Nat in this chapter since it's something that's been playing out through the first two books. Trust is a big deal in my opinion. And the exchange between Morris and Nat has to be one of my favorite scenes. If you don't get why Morris revealed his true name... well, then, I can't help you. You obviously don't know who Morris is, and I think I might touch on that subject later on in the story.

**Next Chapter: **In _Reflection Period_, Kitty and the Resistance must once again regroup after their close call with Nathaniel, Bartimaeus, and Morris. Katherine and Kitty have a little "girl time", deli sandwiches are consumed, Kitty gets her spit all over some very important paper, and Glen goes to a dangerous meeting with an old friend. And what about this super weapon everyone's talking about?


	12. Reflection Period

I'm early. Betcha weren't expecting that, were you? Well, this is one of my personal favorite chapters so far, so I really hope you like it. Thanks to all of my reviewers, too! Constructive criticism, as always, is appreciated.

For anyone that has read _Always_ or _Wonderwall_, I will be removing those fics soon since they violate that song lyric rule FFNet is enforcing now. I'll be posting them on my Livejournal, which is the homepage on my profile, and I might put a link in my profile, also. Sorry, but I have to. I don't want to, though.

Without furthur distractions...

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything that is not mine. The trilogy is just one of those things.

**Chapter Twelve  
**Reflection Period

**_"No matter how dark the night, somehow the sun rises once again and all shadows are chased away." –David Click_**

Her sides felt ready to explode, like a fire was burning within her lungs. She could barely stand it, but she had to, she must. It had been close, much too close. They were lucky, and all of them knew it.

Where were they? She didn't really know; she had just run away from it all. She should have probably paid a bit more attention to where they were going, but that was just a detail right now. Nothing major. What was behind them was major, though. Very major.

"Was that-"

"Yes," Kitty breathed, cutting Jack off sharply. "That was John Mandrake, along with an accomplice and a spirit."

Glen's eyes darted upwards. "Well, that's just splendid. An accomplice, and a spirit." He looked at the ground in front of them and leaned against a street light. "I'm pretty sure it was a djinni, though, because I was reading this book in the library about identifying entities. A mouthy one, too."

His words hit Kitty like a runaway train. That djinni had felt so familiar… Could it be?

_"I'm a wicked demon. You said so."_

_"Perhaps he was tired of this world after all. Do you understand it, Kitty Jones?"_

_"If Mandrake dies, I go free. It's hardly in my interest to help the idiot out."_

_"I don't have free will most of the time, you see. So when I do, I'm hardly likely to act in a way that injures myself, if I can help it. That's what makes me superior to muddled humans like you. It's called common sense."_

_"It's refreshing to see you doing exactly what I would do and getting out while the going's rough."_

_"Exactly. You're a smart girl. Off you go and leave him to die."_

_"Mad. Quite mad. You're as mad as that afrit was."_

_"What about the Staff? You could take it, you know. No one's here to stop you."_

She blinked. "Bartimaeus," she said finally.

"What?"

"The djinni." She looked back in the direction of her flat warily. "His name is Bartimaeus."

"Oh." Jack sat on the step of a townhouse and rubbed his eyes in frustration. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

Kitty shrugged slightly. The situation seemed hopeless. "I don't know," she replied. "There's not much we can do. Mandrake will be on our case constantly, so the three of us will have to stay hidden, which basically cripples what we're trying to do in the first place."

It was silent except for the hustle and bustle of the street before Glen spoke up.

"Let's just do what we do best," he proposed.

Jack shot him an odd look. "And what is that?" His tone was somber, but Glen was grinning defiantly back at the teenager, as if their ages had been switched in some mad turn of events.

"Easy. We run."

-

"And would you like chips with that?"

She nearly slammed the phone into the wall upon hearing this. "No, I would not like chips, you moron! I want fish. Just. Fish. Is that so hard to get that through your thick skull?"

"Well, ma'am, we don't offer just fish. Customarily, the meal comes with chips and a soda."

"Oh, well that's just dandy," the young woman remarked into the telephone. Sarcasm dripped from her lips, but no doubt the worker was too stupid to realize he was being mocked. "Listen, you imbecile, just give me fish. No chips. Lord knows I already eat too much."

There was a pause on the other end. "I'll have to talk to my supervisor about that. Please hold."

A shout could be heard over the line, followed by another shout. Finally, the worker returned to the phone.

"I'm sorry for the delay, ma'am. We will have to call into company headquarters to ask if we're allowed to do that."

She stared at the phone in disbelief. Headquarters?

"Fine," she spat angrily. "Call your damn corporate leaders and ask them if you can give loyal customers – and we're talking extremely loyal – fish for their supper. And while you're at it, tell them that I'm sick of their ridiculous food chains and the decrease in food quality, _and_ I hope they learn the error of their ways, _and_ I hope they all burn in hell." She stopped for a moment to think. "Oh, and tell them their suits are ridiculously tight," she added. "Any tighter and it wouldn't matter that they had pants on, because I'd have a clear view of their-"

The door opened, and Kitty stopped mid-sentence. "-Precious belongings."

"I'll be sure to tell them that, miss."

Kitty sighed and hung up irritably. It was official. The world was run by greedy, idiotic children. It really was.

"Hey, Katherine," she said as the younger girl entered the cellar. "How'd your day go?"

"Alright. Have you ordered food yet?"

Kitty glanced away and tried to appear innocent. "Well, I didn't agree with the restaurant about something, so… Yeah, that's basically how it went."

"Oh, sweet mother of Jesus, Kitty," Katherine breathed, strutting over to the phone and dialing in a number furiously. "Hello, is this the deli? Yes, we'd like two number threes, one salad, and an extra-large pop. Katherine's tab, delivered to the underground flat. Thank you."

"Wow," Kitty whistled. "That took all of, I don't know, ten seconds."

"It's called people skills, Kitty." Katherine smirked in her direction before taking a seat at the table. "They're helpful in the real world, but you wouldn't know about that, I guess."

"I certainly won't be seeing any of that for a while," Kitty commented dryly, sitting down next to her friend. "All thanks to that slimy rat bastard Mandrake."

Katherine studied the cracks in the table offhandedly. "Well, it's not _all_ his fault, is it? I guess he's just doing his job; after all, we are fugitives." At Kitty's furious glare, she recanted her statement. "Oh, I don't mean I agree with him. Far from it. We're right, after all."

"That's better."

A few moments passed, the only sound being Katherine's knuckles knocking against the wood. Finally, she broke the silence. "Have you ever- did you ever- would you ever consider-"

"Spit it out," Kitty sighed wearily. The girl looked up a bit reluctantly before continuing.

"Have you ever even-" she looked to each side to make sure no one had sneaked into the room "-had a boyfriend?"

It got deadly quiet in the cellar.

"No."

"Seriously?" Katherine scoffed in doubt.

Kitty's jaw clenched irritably and she nodded. "Yes, seriously. What would be the point in me saying I hadn't ever had one when I had?"

Katherine took her time deciding which words to use, for Kitty was not a person one would like to have as their enemy. "It's just that it's a bit hard to believe, really." She shifted in her seat uncomfortably as a drop of water splashed on her head. "But… you've been- you've been kissed before, right?"

Another uneasy silence came over the room. Kitty stared at the wall with a dead expression.

"No." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Never."

Katherine blinked. "Holy shit."

Again, silence.

Kitty smiled feebly at her cohort and leaned back in her chair. "What? Is it that hard to believe?" She found herself grasping for words, but anything to delay further probing into her psyche. Like she, of all people, needed a shrink. The very thought just made her laugh. Ha.

"Uh, yeah!" Katherine exclaimed. "Face it, Kitty: you're eighteen years old. Eighteen. In a lot of countries, that means you're legally an adult. Yet you still haven't even kissed a guy yet? What, are you scared of S.T.D.s? I'm not even sure if you can get those if you don't actually- hold on, that's not what I was getting at. You're eighteen!"

Kitty exhaled deeply and rubbed her eyes some more. "Thanks for reminding me what my age is," she replied in as venomous a voice as she could muster. "I completely forgot."

"I'm just saying that it's a bit odd," Katherine stated seriously. She flashed a grin at her accomplice. "After all, you're eighteen."

"I get it, I'm eighteen!" snapped the eldest of the two, exasperation in her voice. Her breathing stabilized, and her hands loosened from their chokehold around the armrests of the chair. "Besides if you're such a romantic, what was your first kiss like?"

Katherine smiled and leaned closer to Kitty. "It was three years ago. Me and this guy I used to hang out with, Mo, were at one of those carnival things passing through town. As a joke, we decided to go into the Tunnel of Love, to make fun of some of the lovebirds. But by the time we got out, we were snogging in our boat. This little kid screamed, and his mum swore at us like you'd never believe."

Kitty looked at her in disbelief. "Wow. Sounds dreadfully sappy. It's hard to find the story through all of that unabridged, non-perverted fluff."

"Sure is."

There was a rapping at the door, and Katherine shot up. "That's our food, no doubt."

She hurried off to the entrance to the Resistance's current headquarters and flung the door open eagerly. A young man with short brown hair was standing outside, two bags in tow, and he gladly gave them to the girl.

"Thank you, miss."

With that, he disappeared down the London street, and Katherine slammed the door shut. She approached the table and sat the bags down, and Kitty eagerly grabbed her sandwich from the depths of one of the sacks.

"Number three," she read off of the wrapping of the meal. She opened it and her eyes widened as the sandwich lay revealed in front of her. "You know, _that_ should be in the museum."

"Damn right it should," Katherine agreed as she pulled a salad and another sandwich from a bag. Finally, she removed a large bottle. "Litre of the good stuff," she acknowledged, pushing it to Kitty. "Enjoy."

They dug in, and Kitty felt better than she had in what seemed like forever. She hadn't had a decent meal since before they'd found Dylan, seeing as she'd never gotten to eat the breakfast she'd been preparing when Mandrake had caught her off guard at her flat. It had almost been a day since she'd last eaten, quite a lot for her standards.

Suddenly, her tongue fell on something rough, and she raised an eyebrow. "I think I've got-"

Without warning, she choked, and spat out the food that she had been chewing onto the paper wrapping in front of her.

"-A bad piece of lettuce in my sandwich."

But what she had choked on was no lettuce. It was a slip of paper, complete with untidy scrawl placed on it in very dark blue ink. She picked it up carefully and wiped away the dressing (and saliva) that covered it.

"Glen," she read. "Hopefully your companion won't swallow this, but that's beside the point. Meet me at the usual spot: I've got some useful information for you. Sincerely, R. Sanders."

Neither of them said anything until Katherine voiced both of their sentiments.

"What the hell?"

-

Glen studied the slip carefully in the dim light given off by the lamp and his eyebrows furrowed. Finally, he nodded.

"Yep, I know the guy," he said. "Rick Sanders, a real balls-buster if there ever was one. We can trust him. He's never let me down before, and there's been a lot of befores."

Clarice eyed the paper skeptically. "Are you sure? This was found in Kitty's sandwich, after all. Who's to say someone else couldn't have already read it and gone to this guy?"

"Because no one besides me knows who Rick Sanders is," Glen responded as he set the note down carefully on a countertop. "That's just his alias for when he's dealing with me. Trust me, he's a professional. Not some puppet of the magicians. And even if his information is bogus, we can at least hear out what he's got to say."

Elliot shook his head. "I don't know, Glen." He spat onto the ground casually. "You may think this guy won't turn you in for a few pounds, but can you really be sure? The Empire's pretty crazy right now. You never know who's working for who."

"Whom," Clarice corrected.

"Whatever. Same thing."

Glen rubbed the back of his head and took a seat next to Kitty. "Don't worry, I can handle this guy if he tries to take me in. He's not invincible. I'll just go talk to him, see what he has to say, and if he does find a way to get me, only one of us will be caught. And I won't tell them anything."

"I'm going with you," Kitty said abruptly.

"No."

She gave him a disbelieving look. "What?"

"No," he reiterated. "They're already looking for you as it is, so you going out could jeopardize everything. And besides, you might scare ol' Rick off."

"But they're looking for you, too!" she protested furiously. She would not go down without at least getting in a punch or two. "That's not fair at all!"

Glen chuckled. "Yeah, they are, but Mandrake didn't get too much of a glimpse of me, I imagine. With you, he's had plenty of time to remember your mug. And I've got a few ways to disguise myself, one of them being a shaver, which no one else here could even attempt to handle."

"I shave," Elliot announced, raising his hand.

"Sure you do, kid. And I've never touched a drop of liquor in my life."

Jack, who along with Yasmin and Katherine had been silent for the entire impromptu meeting, crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the opposite wall in deep contemplation. "I say we give it a shot. Worst comes to worst, Glen here snuffs it, something that at least half of us have been wanting since the day we met him."

"I love you too, Jack."

"And second," he continued, "we have no other way out. We're backed into a corner, and at least with this we might have a chance of making some progress. Time's running out, and we'd better start being more aggressive or we all might end up like Dylan."

Yasmin shook her head. "Wasn't aggression the reason Dylan got killed?"

"Different kind of aggression," Katherine remarked. "His aggression, that was just anger. Our aggression has to be intelligent, calculated."

She surveyed the group in front of her as the light flickered over her frame, shadows dancing against the walls behind her.

"And most of all, we've got to be ruthless."

-

It had begun raining shortly after their discussion, and the water had been pouring down constantly ever since without showing any signs of slowing down. It rapped menacingly against the sidewalk outside their cellar like the sound of drums, keeping all of them alert and wary while Glen was meeting his contact.

Jack had left for his night shift and the others were scattered about the room, some trying to entertain themselves with cards and such games while others were content to merely sit and stare out into space, their minds working at a thousand miles an hour. What if Glen didn't return? What if they forced him to give information about their hideout? What if they were all sent to the Tower for their actions?

Too many questions with answers that depended on this one rendezvous. And eerily, Kitty felt more comfortable than she had in years.

She felt alive, and she could feel the blood rushing through her veins. Her mind reeled and her fingers shook anxiously at her side, and her heart was beating like she had some sort of fever. This felt right, this calm before the storm, this anxious waiting period. They were doing something. They were making strides in the right direction.

Yasmin and Katherine were rolling dice to her left while Clarice was playing Solitaire beside them. Elliot, of all things, was asleep. Or maybe he was just convinced that they were all going to die, and he'd rather go in his sleep.

She stopped in her tracks. That had been a bit morbid, unusual for her. Kind of.

"Lucky seven," Katherine whispered beside her. A die fell onto the floor and came to a halt. "Damn. Six."

Kitty smiled a bit and took a swig from the liter of soda she'd gotten from the deli. As she set the bottle down, her other hand crept into her pocket, tightening around the hilt of a hunting knife she had been carrying around in the wake of recent events. Once again, as it had during that long, boring play in the theater, it comforted her. The knife was stable. The knife was sure. It would be there tomorrow, whether she was alive or not.

There were footsteps outside and the door opened. She flinched a bit before Glen appeared in the room as the door closed, his boots sloshing across the cement messily. His hair was drenched and stuck to his skin miserably, but a tired smile was worn into his face.

"I've got some good news."

Kitty stood and bit her lip. "What?" she asked, hoping it was actual good news and not the feared "Glen good news".

He sat against the wall and sighed happily. "Sanders found out from one of his best sources that a ship, the _Paix Fausse_, is carrying something extremely valuable to the magicians, a weapon of sorts."

"I don't want a weapon," Kitty stated, her voice firm and unwavering.

"I know, I know," he said as he hurried to change her mind. "But think about it. This weapon, it's extremely valuable to the wizards. We could use it as leverage to really jumpstart us, to make this a fair game."

Kitty thought carefully. Glen was a comic sight, wet from head to toe, but he was completely serious about this.

"The most opportune time to strike is at midnight on Saturday," he added.

She thought it over once more before taking a deep breath and nodding.

"Let's do it," she said. She grinned. "Let's do it."

It appeared that Saturday would be a very important day.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **As I said, I like this chapter. It was the longest before Chapter 13 came along and was longer, but still, I like the interactions in this chapter, and it's a decent length. Kitty and Katherine's conversation was one of my favorites to write, as was the call-in to the restaurant. Surprisingly, a lot of subplot-like themes wove their way into this chapter. Odd.

**Next Chapter: **In _Brains, Brawn, and Magnetism_, the days are passing as Saturday draws closer. It's up to Nathaniel to plot out the trio's next course of action, but in the meanwhile, dark and dangerous businesses going on, namely, an odd connection between a hot dog vendor and a finger. Morris has an idea, but does anyone agree with it?


	13. Brains, Brawn, and Magnetism

Sorry about the delay. I hit a brick wall (again) when I was about halfway through Chapter Fourteen (which is over 400 words!), but a few days off and re-reading part of _The Golem's Eye_ helped out. Also, my delay was partially caused by the fact that I wrote five one-shots, three of which being HP, one being X-Men, and one being a **prologue of sorts to this! If you want more while waiting for Chapter Fourteen, go read it and review, please!**

**Disclaimer:** I wish it was mine, but the trilogy isn't.

**Chapter Thirteen  
**Brains, Brawn, and Magnetism

**_"The nice thing about teamwork is that you always have others on your side." –Margaret Carty_**

The raven pecked at its wings in as innocent a manner as is possible while perched comfortably on top of a gargoyle. A clear view of the Tower lie ahead of him, and the city was sprawled out all around him.

Of course, that did absolutely nothing to help my utter boredom. Nathaniel had been locked in his office since noon drawing intricate maps and summoning all of the resources available to him in an attempt to make the perfect plan, something that is total nonsense. A perfect plan does not exist. Of course, magicians scoff at this knowledge, just as they did way back when we were trying to convince them that the Earth was round.

So far, nothing interesting had gone on in the area. I had flown from the Tower to the South Bank to the harbor and to Parliament and back, but it seemed Friday was just a dull day, something that makes no sense at all. Shouldn't people be happy it's the last weekday? You know, drink a little, do drugs; something wild, perhaps?

With a sigh, the raven took flight into the dreary sky, resolute with the fact that there would be little to do before very early Saturday morning. Cats below it gave it a wary eye, knowing fully well that it was one bird they should not attempt to prey on, and the expanse of Greater London flew by under it as it made its path to Parliament.

Finally I landed on the windowsill of Nathaniel's office (who knows, maybe I could scare the little bugger) and observed the busy street of Whitehall as casually as I could. All in all, it was a very interesting site, if only for the fact that commoners and magicians mingled along it, the only such occasion that didn't require an event the equivalent of a nuclear bomb being dropped to occur.

As I sat, I ruminated over the last few days. They had been somewhat dull compared to that one day, but planning is essential, I suppose. Although I usually like to plan as I go. It's a strategy I call improvisation, but others call it pure laziness and attribute it to my lack of a reliable attention span. Whatever you call it, it works. Unless my surviving for five thousand years was pure luck.

I disposed of that disturbing thought and turned to more pressing matters. Namely, the man serving hot dogs (I'm not sure how they fit in with the whole government atmosphere, though) across the road. People were lined up for at least a hundred feet, and I smirked to myself. Foolish humans and their need for food. Ha. Ha, ha. Heh.

I got over my sudden, brief fit just in time to hear a lady shriek, "There's a finger in my chili dog!"

Well, this certainly beat staring at the Tower all day. Of course, there had been that bird that had been hit by a falling rock from the gigantic structure, but that was more of a "hm" moment than a "wow" moment. Big, big difference. Trust me, I've been around the block a few times. And a few more for good measure.

The hot dog man blinked and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with his palm (how clean). "What'd you say, lady?"

After I was done wondering how a guy with that kind of American accent lived in Europe – oh, I guess that _would_ explain him being a hot dog server – I continued to listen with a keen ear. Yes, ravens do have ears. No, I will not explain.

"There's a finger!" the lady screamed. She gasped and flung her hand to her face in a dramatic act that would probably not get her into one of that fellow Makepeace's plays. On second thought, with magicians' strange tastes in the arts these days, it probably would. Uh, back to the point. "And it's in my chili! My chili!"

Another woman near her poked her head over the food, obviously intrigued. "Isn't the real mystery why you're eating a chili dog? That's definitely not good for your figure. Way too many carbs."

"Yeah," said a young man in a very metrosexual/homosexual-sounding voice. "Definitely not good at all-"

"Shut up!" yelled Hot Dog Man, putting his arms up and waving them frantically. Huh, it was like a scene out of a bad play. The American tough guy, the damsel in distress, the annoying friend and her stereotypical gay companion. I mean, not all queer guys speak like girls. "Now, let me have a look at this."

He walked over to the woman, stuck his head right by her snack, and plunked his hand into the depths of the calorie bonanza. After much digging through layers of nacho cheese and chili (maybe she's trying to gain weight in some crazed frenzy), he extracted a long, bony stick-like object.

A finger, in all its gruesome, cheesy glory dangled in his hands, exposed to the crowd at hand. Chili dripped from the tip of the nail, and a young girl passed out right into the street.

"Well, that's… different."

However, my further indulgence of the scene was prevented when a knocking on the window behind me caught my attention. I turned my head only to see Nathaniel's looming face out of the corner of my eye.

"Come in, Bartimaeus," he commanded. "I know that's you."

My wings drooped a bit, but I tried to hide it. "Caw," I attempted feebly.

"Nice theatrics." He checked his watch and unlatched the window, finally sticking his head straight out of it. "But it won't work on me."

"Damn."

With some degree of reluctance, I hopped on into the office as he closed the window behind me and shifted into a more comfortable shape as my essence had begun to wear down after being a raven for such an extended period of time. I stretched my arms high above my head before taking a seat opposite Nathaniel's desk (minus Nathaniel, of course, who was fiddling around with the window latch). He growled, snapped it furiously into place, spun on his foot in a reckless manner, and fell into his chair. All very impressive, really, how he could make such boring actions worth an entire sentence – and a half, if you count the note in parentheses in the prior sentence – of description.

"Had a good day so far?" I asked in a particularly sweet manner for myself. "Get work done? Eat a good lunch? Not look at attractive women as they pass by you?"

Nathaniel shot me a glare that might have intimidated a flea, but only a puny one. "Do you like being a nuisance?"

"Yes."

He sighed and ruffled his hair half-mindedly with one hand. "Of course you do. It's your sole purpose for living, isn't it?" His hand had shot up to stop me before I could even say anything witty. "That was rhetorical. That means that it's a question you don't answer."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically. "I didn't already know what that meant."

Nathaniel shuffled some papers that probably held no importance whatsoever as importantly as he could. It seemed he always had some documents ready to rearrange at any time. I made a mental note to look into getting him a stress ball for his birthday. He surely needed one.

"Did you learn anything?" he asked.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling apathetically. "Nope, didn't learn a thing. But there was a finger in some lady's chili dog a few minutes ago, and there was this American, and this other girl and her friend and they all-"

"That's great," interrupted Nathaniel. My head tilted back downwards and I gave him a dirty look. Rude piece of tripe. "I suppose you have done nothing useful for the last day."

I shrugged. "Well, your exact orders were, 'Stay out of my hair for at least an hour or two or I will personally make sure that you are never able to walk again.' Oh, and you also said that I should 'stay far from magicians, particularly politicians, since we don't want any suspicions at all around us.' And my favorite, 'please don't stick your head in the-'"

"I know what I said," he snapped at me angrily. What was it with this kid and interrupting? Who taught him his manners, Ramses? On second hand, Nathaniel was English, which explains a lot. Of course, it's probably better than being French. But that's a whole different subject, and I'm afraid I can't explain it without using less than twenty various words that are not proper to use in public.

I rolled my eyes at him and smirked. "If you're such a diligent worker, what did _you_ learn today?" I inquired. "I know I didn't learn anything since you ordered me to lay low, so hopefully you made up for my production, or lack thereof."

He raised an eyebrow. "Thereof? Are you getting smarter or something?"

"Fine, I won't use big words, if that makes you – "

"Never mind," he cut me off. See, interrupted again. "I studied the maps of the area surrounding the harbor, and have set up a plan according to this information." He laid out a large map with several squiggly red lines on it before me.

I looked at it with wide eyes. "It looks like someone was stabbed to death on this." I leaned over the desk and pointed my finger to a large line with an x running through it. "What's this?"

"Oh, I messed up right there so I crossed it out." He looked somewhat sheepish as he said this, which gave me some delight. "But if you look to the side you can clearly see that-"

The door flew open and hit the wall with a thud. Looked like Nathaniel was getting interrupted. Nice change, if you ask me.

"Morris!" Nathaniel hissed. He hurried over to the door and checked the wall behind it. "You made a dent in the wall, you fool!"

"Oh, sorry." He took a seat next to me and inhaled sharply. "I've got a lot of adrenaline running at the moment, you know?"

Nathaniel looked up dangerously. His expression could not be good at all. No, sir, it could not. "What do you mean? Why would your adrenaline be running so quickly?"

Morris bit his lip, obviously stalling as he decided how to word the inevitable. "Eh, I was doing some field work and I got into a bit of a jam. No worries, though: I got out of it fine, as you can see. No damage. Except for your wall, of course. So actually, there was minimal damage."

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed into thin slits. "What kind of field work?"

"Uh…" Morris sighed. He was caught. No use trying to get out of this one. "Well, I was getting some pop at a bar, since beer and wine taste like crap – incidentally, that actually is somewhat relevant to my story – and I overheard these two ladies talking."

"What did they say?"

"You've got to understand," the youth said slowly and deliberately, "that it was very crowded and stuffy and loud and many other adjectives that have definitions similar to that. The clarity of speech wasn't so good, to make my point clear. Hey, that's kind of ironic. Clarity, clear." Nathaniel's eyes told him this was no joke. On the other hand, I thought this would be a riot. "Er, sorry. So these two ladies were talking and I thought they said _Paix Fausse_, so I turn to them and say, 'You know something about the _Paix Fausse_?'"

He coughed. "And they give me this real evil look and say, 'No, we don't know anything about that, you sick little man!' So they run to this guy and he comes up to me and says, 'Were you bothering these ladies?' And I say, 'No, I just asked them about the _Paix Fausse_.' He glares at me and tries to grab me but I start running."

"Why would-"

"Let him finish!" I said indignantly. He shut up promptly, I'm proud to say.

"So I finally hide behind these boxes," Morris continues, "and catch the man talking to the ladies, who have come after him. Turns out, they were making a joke about fried feces, and then- well, you know the rest. But I make a sound at this, so they find me and I have to run, until finally I run in here and lose them. Great story, huh?"

I cringed. "Fried feces? As in – "

Morris nodded, affirming my very thoughts. "Yep. One and the same."

"If I could throw up, I probably would. Fortunately, I'm not human."

"As educational as this has been," Nathaniel stated in an official tone, "it means absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. Both of you have done little to no work while I have been toiling away in this cell of an office, but that is something we shall discuss at a later date. Now, we must go over our plan of action."

"Great," Morris mumbled under his breath. "It's like math class all over again."

Nathaniel ignored him and approached the map once more, studying it with alert eyes. "We will meet here at precisely eleven thirty," he declared as he jabbed a finger at a big blob on the paper. "It's a warehouse nearby the harbor, and from there we will commence along this path – " his finger followed a red line from the blob " – to this loading dock at the back of the ship. We will crawl into this opening and separate in this storage room along three separate paths. Mine is green, Morris's is yellow, and Bartimaeus's path is blue."

Morris squinted at the map. "I can't see my path very well."

"Live with it. I didn't have a black marker."

"What do we do after that?" I asked.

Nathaniel looked at me with mild surprise. Evidently, my asking a useful question was uncalled for. "If we encounter anyone, we will detain them, as no workers are scheduled to be on the boat. If there is a large group, we will seek assistance, but if we can detain at least one or two that should help us greatly to catch the others."

"I guess that makes sense."

No one said anything for a little bit. It hit us all for the first time that this could very well be the end of the Resistance, or the end of us. Even I was at risk with all of the resilient commoners we would be going up against. They would not hesitate to destroy us if we tried to destroy them, or at least that's what the general feeling was. That one guy had carried a _gun_.

Of course, Morris was the one to break the silence. "You guys nervous?"

Nathaniel stared at him. "A little bit. You?"

"Nah," he replied. "I figure if I've gotta go down, I might as well go down to a group of crazed terrorists. Who knows, maybe a few thousand people will show up for my funeral."

"I guess that's a good enough reason. What about you, Bartimaeus?"

My eyes darted to him lazily. "I'm more nervous about dying with you two at my side than the actual dying. I've got a reputation to preserve. Imagine what people will think if the great Bartimaeus is last seen with the likes of you."

"Gee, thanks," Nathaniel responded. He smiles a bit despite himself. "Don't boost my confidence too much, though, or I may just get arrogant."

"Don't worry, Nat, you already are."

Morris yawned loudly and rocked backwards in his chair. "I don't see why you're so anxious about all of this. We're the perfect team."

"What?" I completely ignored the fact that both Nathaniel and I said this at the same time. Perfect team? The very thought, the very act of comprehending that information, almost made my brain turn to radioactive slush. Surely this was a joke. Surely.

"It's simple," Morris said. He gestured to Nathaniel. "Here we have the mastermind, the brains behind the operation. If the Resistance has anyone as smart as this guy, than I'll be damned. Really, his brain is humongous. Just look at his head. His brain's got to be huge."

"Too bad he doesn't use much of it, though," I muttered to myself. Nathaniel heard me loud and clear, but he was too busy basking in the glory of the compliment to pay attention. He completely ignored the fact that his head had been called humongous, too.

"And Barty here is the brawn of it all," explained Morris. "He's a djinni, and a powerful one, too. I'd like to see the Resistance mess with him. He could snap them in two with his pinky."

I smiled. "Damn straight."

"So," Nathaniel mused, rubbing his chin, "we have the brains and the brawn. Admittedly, both are very, very fitting. But the thing is, Bartimaeus is a bit lacking in the brains category, and I'm not the strongest fellow you'll ever meet. What makes up for that?"

"I don't have brains?" I scoffed. Now this was funny. Truly, he could be a wonderful comedian. I, Bartimaeus, fourteenth-level djinni, am one of the cleverest beings a magician will ever encounter in his puny life. "Have you _met_ me? I have more brains than you do!"

Nathaniel ignored me. Again. Instead, he focused on Morris. "What makes up for our weaknesses?"

His counterpart grinned broadly, almost smirking, and points a thumb at himself. "I do, of course."

"What do you mean? We have brains and brawn, so what else is there?"

"Three words, Johnny," he replied, using Nathaniel's chosen name, as he jutted up three fingers proudly. "They are: sheer animal magnetism."

Nathaniel was caught off-guard, and it showed. "As in… attractiveness?"

"Yep." Morris was very serious, however. "Face it. When I walk by, all the girls in the room swoon as if it's going out of style. They can't resist me."

Nathaniel frowned and gave Morris a skeptic glance. This did not suit well with him. "Are you joking?"

I thought this was all very funny, but Morris was very sincere and Nathaniel looked as if the sky was close to falling. "No. Face it, not all of us can be ugly. No offense, Bartimaeus."

"None taken," I said happily.

It was quiet, far too quiet in the room. Finally, Nathaniel found his tongue.

"So, if you encounter the Resistance, what're you going to do? Sleep with them?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Nat," Morris replied, using Nathaniel's true name this time. "But basically, I'll just flirt and talk my way out of any situation."

"Hold on," I started, "what if it's a gu-"

"Let's just get out of here," Nathaniel cut me off, once again stopping me mid-sentence. Bastard. "I don't think I want to hear any more, or else I may just decide to stay home tonight."

He swept out of the room and I followed dutifully, but I gave Morris one last look-over before turning to the outside world.

I was starting to like the kid. After all, he had style.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes:** This chapter is officially dedicated to any fans of Morris out there. He is vintage Morris in this, and unlike in **_Like Pawns, We Fall_** (the prologue fic I talked about in the first notes), he's less angsting. But I think I'm going to return to that later. Bartimaeus chapters are always fun, of course, and the first scene was something I enjoyed. I actually got a map of London to help with this, too. Any British folks out there, just correct me if those damn map people are wrong.

**Next Chapter: **In _Maybe From Your Perspective_, Bartimaeus and Nathaniel have a discussion about good and evil and the chessboard is revisited. Judgement Day has come, and now the fellas and the Resistance must confront each other and face off for the last time. But can there be any true victor?


	14. Maybe From Your Perspective

Sorry for the extra-long wait. Chapter Fifteen was hard to write, but on the plus side, it's more than a thousand words longer than this. This chapter is actually a double-chapter, seeing as it's 4,000 words (most chapters up to Chapter Twelve were 2,000 words), and Chapter Fifteen is about 5,400 words, which almost qualifies it as a triple-chapter, so really, the wait was worth it. I hope.

Also, Fifteen was a very critical chapter to the entire story - it probably is the most critical chapter to the story - so it took a ton of time. But I finished it, and I really like it, although I'm going to have one hell of a time editing it.

And there is one thing a few chapters ago that no one has really caught onto, although some of you have guessed in the right direction. You have no idea how much fun it is knowing that I might be the first to use a certain concept, one that you should see in a few chapters. But you can't say I didn't lay my clues.

**Disclaimer: **See any previous chapter. (I'm so lazy.)

**Chapter Fourteen  
**Maybe From Your Perspective

"_**Just let me finish this point." -Bill Kristol, conservative pundit, after a pie was splattered on his face during a speech at Earlham College**_

The car came to a gradual stop outside Nathaniel's flat, and he thanked the chauffeur before briskly swinging the door open and stepping out into the late evening air. He smoothed his suit and straightened his tie as Bartimaeus crawled out of the car behind him and shut the door. The car sped off down the street and out of site and Nathaniel smiled. Now he was alone, save Bartimaeus, of course. Now he could prepare.

He strode quickly to the door and unlocked it with a flick of his hand, something he thought was rather impressive, and the door opened. He entered the flat and hurried over to his laptop while Bartimaeus took a seat on his counter.

"What you looking at?" asked the djinni.

"Another map of the area, just in case we need an escape route."

Bartimaeus grinned. "Come on, Nat. Do you honestly think we need an escape route? We're the best team there is. We've got brains, brawn, and magnetism."

Nathaniel glanced at him and shook his head. "Morris is an idiot."

"That's just a point of view."

"What?"

Bartimaeus threw him a look of surprise. "What do you mean?"

"How is it just a point of view?" Nathaniel snapped back irritably as he waited for the next page to load. He tapped the computer angrily. "Damn dial-up."

"Well," said Bartimaeus slowly and deliberately as if he was trying to think of how to shape his explanation. "Just think about it. A hero is just a murderer, or an assailant, or even an enemy, if you look at it from the other side's perspective. Good and evil are just a viewpoint."

"That makes no sense."

"Think about it," Bartimaeus continued. "If you were a Czech, you'd think the Empire is evil, but you're an Englishman, so you think it's all high and mighty. You think Gladstone is a hero, but he was just a murderer to the Czechs."

"So, if good and evil aren't objective, then what do you believe?"

His question caught Bartimaeus off-guard.

"I believe…" He scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "I believe that there is no constant definition of good and evil. I believe that the only good a being can do is by doing what they believe is right, and the only evil a person can do is by doing what they think is wrong. There is no medium. Of course, some djinn don't see the point of this. They think there is no good and evil at all, and anyone who thinks there is should be hanged."

The page still hadn't loaded, and Nathaniel was beginning to get very agitated. "I understand somewhat, but I disagree. That can't be right. There is a clear boundary between good and evil, and there are no interpretations of it. This is the only thing that could be true."

Bartimaeus shrugged. "Whatever you say, Nat," he replied as he stretched his arms above his head. "We djinni have been trying to tell magicians that all of this good and evil crap depends on who you are, and there is no clear boundary. We've been telling you this for centuries, but no, you don't listen. If you want to believe that, fine. You have to do what you think is right."

Nathaniel contemplated the djinni quietly. Bartimaeus had been known to spout philosophical knowledge from time to time, but it had been a while since he'd said anything like this. Maybe he never had.

"Morris is still an idiot."

"That's what you think," Bartimaeus pointed out. "But to him, he's a genius." He paused before grinning and chuckling to himself. "And a sexy one at that."

What Nathaniel had to say to this they would never know, for at that moment the page loaded.

"Aha!" he cried triumphantly. "It loaded!"

His head jutted out until it was only inches from the computer screen. His eyes scanned over the document with blazing speed and he frowned. "Hey, this isn't the page I clicked on. This is one of those ads giving out free computers."

"I have no earthly idea what in hell you are talking about."

Nathaniel shook his head. "No, I wouldn't expect you to."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Bartimaeus looked rather amused, actually. "Because it's not a very good one."

"Have you heard of something called 'silence'? I'm not sure, it may have been invented after your time."

Bartimaeus let out a deep laugh that was surprising for his small frame. "There, that's a bit better. I think you're getting the hang of this."

"Finally," breathed Nathaniel. His page had loaded. "Ah, damn pop-ups. Die, pop-ups, die!"

After a brief battle with the constant ads, he looked over the map. "No, our map was accurate. So basically I just wasted ten minutes loading this page."

"Figures."

Nathaniel sighed. "Could you go keep watch or something? I'm already somewhat stressed as it is, and you're really not helping at all."

"Fine," said Bartimaeus indifferently as he hopped off the counter. "Doesn't matter to me."

He disappeared up the stairs, leaving Nathaniel to his thoughts. Now that the djinni was gone, Nathaniel felt a bit lonely. The flat was large and spacious, and he was just one small person to fill it.

But he had always been a loner. He thought better in silence.

He leaned back in his chair when a glint of light to his side caught his eye. He spun in his chair to face it and smiled to himself. Of course.

The chessboard.

He hadn't thought of it in days. Now, everything had gotten so complicated that he didn't even know what to do with it. Nathaniel leaned over it and examined the board: it was exactly as he had left it. The queen was still open to attack, and he had the perfect move to put it in a bad position.

He moved his knight out. It now directly attacked the queen. Brilliant.

Now the Resistance faced a question: do they retreat or risk their queen by trying to weaken him? He did not know. The events of the night, or early morning, would determine that.

It might be easier now, making his move. He at least knew whom he was up against: Kitty Jones. Nathaniel had dealt with her twice before. Neither memory was one he liked to look back upon, but they had been learning experiences. He knew his enemy now. She might think she knew him, but no, he had changed. He was smarter now, and two years older. The arrogant mistakes he had made in his youth would not be repeated.

A smile crept onto his face. In just a few hours, he might be able to win this game of chess once and for all. That would show Devereaux his abilities.

"Nathaniel?"

He glanced up at the sound of his name. "Yes?"

"The area is clear," Bartimaeus said. "There's this old lady in the flat next to you with these rabid cats that keep frothing at the mouth, though. But besides that, you live in the dullest place in this world."

"Why, thank you, Bartimaeus. You do have a knack for making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

Bartimaeus smirked at him. "See, you _are _developing quite a sharp tongue on you." He tilted his head to the side and observed Nathaniel with a hint of humor in his eyes. "You should get some rest. You haven't slept more than five hours the past few days. It won't be good if you fall asleep during our raid of the ship."

"You know, that might actually have been the first smart thing you've said since I've known you," replied Nathaniel as he stood from his chair. "I'll be in my chambers if you need me."

He brushed past Bartimaeus and shut the door behind him. The djinni's eyes followed him into his room.

"Heh. You said 'chambers'."

-

It was dark and silent at the harbor. The warehouses nearby had long since closed down, and the usually busy streets were all but empty. No one was here to disturb them. They would be alone with the Resistance.

Nathaniel stared at the mass of a ship in front of him. It really was a marvel. Through science and magic, this monstrosity (and he meant this in a good way) could sail upon the Thames, a mere river. Granted, the river had been recently widened and extended by Devereaux's administration so it was more like a mixture of a lake and a river, but he could see why the Resistance might think a weapon would be stored on the ship. It certainly looked like a fortress, although it was a floating fortress at that.

He wondered… were they already here? Were they already searching for the weapon they desired, the weapon that did not exist? The ship might be very sturdy, but that might be disadvantageous to them. It was intended to keep intruders out. Now, Nathaniel was curious if he could manipulate it to keep intruders _in_.

Bartimaeus was taking too long. He had been sent to scout out the ship and the surrounding area, and almost thirty minutes had passed since he had left. And Morris hadn't even arrived yet, the irresponsible mess of a man.

He checked his watch one more time. It was five minutes past twelve. Morris was more than late, he was excruciatingly late.

The _Paix Fausse_ rocked gently on the waves. Now, on the threshold of what might be the greatest or most embarrassing night of his life, Nathaniel was in awe. And not only that, he was terrified. What if the tides had been turned, and really, this was a trap against him? He thought he was ambushing the Resistance, but maybe Makepeace's sources were lying. Maybe they were double-crossing him.

And also, he had no idea how large this group was. From the files he had read, the last one had been around six people, but this one could be ten, twenty easily. He and Morris were only two magicians, and Bartimaeus was only one djinni. They could be going against those so strong that Bartimaeus's magic didn't even work on them!

Nathaniel shook his head and straightened his sleeves, another nervous habit he had picked up over the years. He was worrying too much. Everything would be all right, as it always was.

But what if it wouldn't?

And even if he did capture this Kitty Jones… would he turn her in? She had saved his life twice before, once when he didn't even deserve it. Could he possibly condemn her to a life in prison?

_Yes_, said a voice in his head. _It's for your country_.

He nodded. _For my country_.

"Sorry I'm late." Nathaniel turned, startled. It was only Morris. "I overslept."

"Of course," stated Nathaniel resignedly, having regained his composure. "But don't worry. Bartimaeus is still scouting the ship, so you haven't missed any of the action."

"Oh goody."

Nathaniel smiled. "I see you're not too excited anymore."

"No, I'm just tired. Big difference. Give me five minutes with a cup of tea with sugar and I just won't be able to stand still."

Nathaniel was about to respond when he felt something slither – hold on, what? Something was _slithering_ against his foot! He opened his mouth to scream but was cut off by laughter.

"Quiet, you'll blow our cover." The snake's head rose into the air, and a grin, if snakes could grin, was on its face. "I scouted the area. We're clear, but they may have arrived in the last five seconds, so I guess we should hurry up then."

He was met by a furious glare. "Bloody hell, you git, you scared the living daylights out of me!"

"Yeah," said Bartimaeus happily. "I know."

Nathaniel shook his head and tried to keep in the many names he wanted to call the djinni. Luckily, he succeeded. "Well, if we're done trying to frighten each other to death, we should probably get on the ship and separate."

His two accomplices nodded.

"I guess this is it," Morris commented. "Good luck to you both."

"Same to you." Nathaniel found his mouth was very dry for some reason. Morris looked at them one last time before turning away and disappearing up the loading ramp and onto the ship.

"I'd better be off, then." Bartimaeus followed Morris although he went into the opposite hall of the ship. Nathaniel was alone once more.

"Here's for Britain," Nathaniel muttered to himself as he walked up the ramp also but instead went down the middle corridor of the ship. He kept the door slightly open to provide some source of light, as he would not be carrying a flashlight to guide himself for fear of blowing his cover, but it did no good. It was pitch black inside the _Paix Fausse_, or at least it was in his path, for there were no windows either. Narrow doorways lined the walls beside him, walls that were far too close together for comfort. The ship had looked monstrous from the outside, but he felt cramped inside of it.

It was silly in Nathaniel's mind that he was scared of this ship. He was no child. He was not afraid of the dark, or small hallways for that matter. Yet as much as he did not want to admit it, he was. The only thing that prevented him from darting in the opposite direction out of fear was the lagging image in his mind, the image of him presenting the Resistance to Devereaux. That would show his colleagues. Whitwell, Fry, Farrar; all of them doubted him. But when he was the one to capture the traitors, they would be praising him, and they would know that John Mandrake was one of the greatest magicians in the world.

Still, his doubts remained. What if the Resistance was larger than he had anticipated? Maybe they were ruthless killers, and not the bumbling fools he suspected them to be.

_No_, Nathaniel thought. _I won't think about that. Everything will be fine._

He had come to an intersection in the corridors. There was a faint light coming from far windows, yet still he could barely see what was in front of him. In fact, he wondered if the Resistance or something equally intimidating was just waiting right in front of –

"Ow!"

His shin had hit something hard, something with a sharp edge. All of the nerves in his leg felt as if they were burning, and his eyes stung. Nathaniel's hand automatically went to the injured area, and if the situation hadn't required complete and utter quiet, he would have let out a long string of curses that would have put a sailor to shame. Thankfully he didn't, however, but it seemed that wasn't enough.

There was a sound to his left. It seemed to be coming from some distance, but it was most definitely there.

Nathaniel fell to the ground, stunned and silent. Another sound, very faint, grew closer. He could see a silhouette coming closer. He prayed that this silhouette would not find him.

It did, though.

"What happened?" The words were whispered, and the voice was one he'd heard before.

In fact, he'd heard it just seconds ago. "Morris?"

"I heard something," said the trainee. "What happened?"

"I hit something with my shin." It sounded very stupid and childish right now, but it was true. And the pain in his leg had not gone away.

Nathaniel could see Morris, albeit was just a shadow of him, bend over and run over an object with his hands. After a few seconds he spoke. "I think it's a crate." He paused. "No… it's something oddly shaped. I know I've felt it before, but I can't put my finger on it. Damn, I know what this is, but I just can't remember."

"That's just splendid," Nathaniel remarked sarcastically. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and now he could begin to see Morris's face.

"Hey, I don't see you doing anything."

"I'm agonizing, thank you. My shin still hurts."

"Well, maybe you can get a nurse to put a band-aid over your boo-boo," Morris stated. He stood and sighed. "I've got to get back to my route. Not that I really remember what it was, but I guess I should just pretend."

Nathaniel made a shooing gesture. "Fine, then. Off you go. Leave me to die here, you slimy bastard. I hope you tell your descendants about how you left the Internal Affairs Minister to die a lonely death."

Morris did not reply, and his footsteps echoed against the walls as he returned to his original position. Bugger. Nathaniel had actually displayed a sense of humor and still no response. Maybe this whole funny thing wasn't his strong point. He should just be boring, old John Mandrake, he who could not make someone laugh if his life depended on it. Of course, he would also be known as the greatest magician ever in a few years, so hopefully that would make up for his lack of conversational skills. He'd just intimidate people until they laughed. Not at him, of course. They'd laugh to save their worthless arses from flogging courtesy of a sizable marid.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of all the useless thoughts that had been buzzing in it recently, and got to his feet. He stuck his foot out very carefully and traced it around the edge of the object that had brutally attacked him. There was a bottom rectangle-like structure, and then little rods that stuck out above it. Odd indeed. Nathaniel was sure he knew what it was but like Morris could not quite remember. Stupid brain.

Still using his foot as a guideline for where the vicious object was, Nathaniel continued past the intersection. He had intentions of going further, but the whole fiasco had been a little draining, and he did not want to repeat it the next time the halls converged. His shin still burned, also, and he had a sinking feeling that it would burn for quite a while. So he leaned against the wall after he checked to make sure he was not leaning against a doorknob and waited for something to happen. Enough with this game of hide-and-seek. Nathaniel would wait here for the Resistance to fall into his hands like a mouse into a mousetrap. Technically, this meant he was playing cat-and-mouse, but this suited him much better than hide-and-seek, never mind that they were practically identical games.

A few seconds went by. His new concept of waiting for them was already getting a bit stale.

A few more seconds passed. When had his attention span shortened? It seemed he was already bored out of his mind. When would they come?

No. He would not get apathetic. He would focus. He would concentrate. He would not let the Resistance get the best of him, even if it meant not falling asleep when his body desired nothing more than a comfortable bed.

To pass the time and to keep himself from passing out on the spot, Nathaniel made a new activity. It was one that did nothing constructive yet had something to do with the task at hand, so he did not feel guilty. The activity was to guess which member of the Resistance he would come in contact with first.

When Nathaniel had visualized the situation, he'd always imagined running into Kitty Jones. It made sense. He was the leader of his odd little faction, and she was a veteran traitor/rebel. They had been around the block a few times, even if they were young. Also, Nathaniel desired greatly to make up for his last encounter with her. Having your life saved by a mere commoner can be disastrous to one's ego.

But it was very possible it _wouldn't_ be her. In fact, it was very likely that he'd run into someone else. There was still that man who carried the gun, Glen (Nathaniel gulped involuntarily at the word "gun"), and the teenager who had been with him, the one who had worked at the museum. His name had been Joe. No, it wasn't Joe. It was John. No, Jacob. No, Jake. No, it had been Jack. His name had most definitely been Jack. Jack Johnson and Glen Something-Or-Other.

Nathaniel's clever thoughts were interrupted by a woman's shriek coming from Morris's direction. Well, that wasn't Morris, so at least Morris was the one doing the terrorizing.

A grunt. That could've been Morris.

A thud – no, two thuds. Either could have been Morris.

A gunshot. Oh, hell. This definitely wasn't good.

Another thud and a yell…

Then silence. The tension in the room could have been cut by a poorly made Swedish pocketknife. Nathaniel could feel his lungs squeeze together painfully; Morris had been hurt. He had led Morris here, and now the fool was hurt –

"Ha!" boomed a loud, triumphant voice. "Got three of them! How do you like the pipe I found, old man? Oh, you don't like it? That's too bad."

What? Morris _won_? He was the one doing the thudding? Now if only he would be quiet. The Resistance surely knew they were here by now, if the shriek, a gunshot, and the yell hadn't alerted them of their presence already. Of course, now Nathaniel knew the Resistance was here, so it all evened out. Makepeace had not let him down. His information had been good, or even brilliant. Nathaniel made a mental note to thank the playwright after this affair was over.

His thoughts were cut short once more, though. If he had been worrying about silence and stealth a few moments beforehand, all of those worries died and went to hell when not one but _two_ screams, one belonging to a girl and one belonging to a young man, came from Bartimaeus's direction. Neither belonged to the djinni, however, and Nathaniel couldn't decide whether this was satisfying to him or was a disappointment. It looked like Bartimaeus would live to insult him yet.

But there was more. There was not one, not two, but three yells this time, and a few groans to boot. "Got some!" Bartimaeus announced happily. "Apparently they were traveling in a pack. Not too bright, are they?"

Nathaniel chose not to reply, but he had to admit, the Resistance was not as intelligent as he had thought they would be. They had been traveling in a group of five, for crying out loud! How dull could you be? It had taken Bartimaeus all of ten seconds to take out five Resistance members. Ten seconds.

But he knew there had to be at least one member remaining, one that he did not think would fall so easily. He had been listening very carefully, and not once had he heard the voice he had been wishing to hear, not once did he hear the voice cry out in defeat.

Not once did he hear the voice of Kitty Jones.

That meant she was still out there, in _here_. She was somewhere in the ship, and it was probable that she hadn't been traveling with her cohorts. That meant that she was most likely in his corridor, or below him, or –

There was a sudden creaking noise. It was quiet, yet very clear, but it was what followed it that made Nathaniel's eyes widen.

The object that had attacked his shin was lifting.

He stepped cautiously into the middle of the hallway. Now it all made sense. The object was a hatch. He had hit his foot on one of those little prongs that were used to twist it open. But someone was coming out of the hatch. This was not good.

It flipped open completely in a swift motion. A head popped out, and the outline of it swiveled quickly. It was scanning the area around it. It would see him. But it made no indication that it had, and then he remembered: he was standing in the darkness, where the light from the windows could not reach. Nathaniel grinned. The lack of light had actually helped him.

His grin faded when a figure emerged from the hatch, crouched low. It straightened slowly and began to walk… towards _him_. Oh, shit.

It was only few meters from him from him.

Only two meters.

Only one meter.

Less than a meter.

Now it stopped. Its face, or her face, was only centimeters from his. Nathaniel could feel her breath, he could feel her sudden fear that she had advanced too far. Only now had she noticed him. Only now was she able to see him. Her hair was actually brushing his face now. They were close enough to touch.

He smiled.

"Hello, Kitty Jones. Fancy meeting you here."

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **A huge chapter, kinda. It's different, and very... I don't know how to describe it. I actually started moving the plot along, and the much-built-up-to confrontation has arrived. No more waiting. Everything's about to move at a quicker pace, and the fic's all downhill from here, really. I consider the next chapter the turning point of the story, and from there on out everything is just leading to the climax. I left you with a cliffhanger... but that will be resolved next chapter. No beating around the bush, I promise. And I hope you liked your daily dose of Morris; he is only mentioned in passing in Chapter Fifteen. Speaking of which...

**Next Chapter: **In _Rules of the Game_, Kitty and Nathaniel confront each other not once, but twice, and the events leading to the ultimate demise of the Resistance as we know it are revealed. But now, old debts are revisited and Nathaniel must make one final choice to who he will become and who he wants to be.


	15. Rules of the Game

Latest chapter yet, I know. Three weeks, was it? Well, the next chapter was another that wouldn't come, but it was really a combination of things, including a birthday, the 4th of July, and a trip to Boston for a few days. But excessive listening sessions of Coldplay and Oasis helped me pound through Chapter 16, and I think the influence is obvious.

So, here's the chapter I've billed as the turning point of the story, and I'm sticking by that. It's long and I think I edited it alright although its length may make it a little rough, but I'll try to fix the mistakes.

Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapters.

**Chapter Fifteen  
**Rules of the Game

"_**Sing like you think no one's listening.  
**__**You would kill for this,  
**__**Just a little bit,  
**__**Just a little bit;  
**__**You would, you would."  
**__**-Straylight Run's **"Existentialism on Prom Night"_

Oh, no.

No, no, _no_.

"Well, well, the terrorist is speechless," Mandrake mused quietly. Kitty longed to knock the stupid smirk right off of his face, but she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Her muscles had frozen into place.

This was not good.

_No shit, Sherlock_, she thought to herself. Optimistically, her brain was somewhat functioning. But seeing as the rest of her body wasn't, this wouldn't help at all.

But Mandrake wasn't moving either. She found this especially odd, for he did (she presumed) have control of all limbs. He was gazing at her intently, the poor light bouncing off of his eyes and giving them a certain glimmer, and he barely blinked at all. Kitty wondered why he did not step away, or attack her, or do _something_, no matter what. They were centimeters apart; Kitty could feel his breath tickling her face, and she was certain that if he stuck out his tongue he could lick off the light amount of lip-gloss she had on.

She had heard screams, yells. They had sounded far too familiar… and now she was right in front of the one magician whose sole purpose was to capture and detain them.

How had things gone so wrong?

-

Thirty minutes before Kitty's encounter with Mandrake, the members of the Resistance had been situated near the back wall of an old rundown warehouse. Jack, Joel, and Glen were standing alert near the river, while Clarice and Katherine were keeping watch from behind the group. The others – Elliot, Yasmin, Thomas – were sitting and talking quietly amongst themselves. Kitty stood to the side, but she could hear what they were saying.

"You guys nervous?" asked Thomas in a low voice. He didn't usually speak, actually, and thus surprised Kitty. He would often sit quiet in meetings, and many times would be gone for long periods of time, but he was fierce, sometimes stupidly fierce.

"Of course not," Elliot replied confidently. Kitty wasn't looking, but she could just imagine Elliot's chest puffing outwards at this point. "We're professionals. We can do this. No sweat."

Yasmin coughed. "You're an arrogant one, aren't you?"

"No, it's called self-esteem. You may not have heard of it, but it's this thing that most people need."

"Thanks, I didn't know that," said Yasmin venomously, but Kitty could hear the fear in her voice. She was shaking. Kitty could tell. "I'll have to keep it in mind next time I think someone's a cocky fool."

"Why, you little bi-"

"Settle down," Thomas cut him off. "We don't need any fighting… at least not now."

"What would you know?" spat Elliot. "How old are you, thirteen?"

Kitty could feel Thomas clench his jaws. "Fourteen."

"Oh, big difference."

"Did you know that you're a bastard?" Thomas retorted irritably. "Really, you are. You're a bastard like no other."

"Does your dear old mum know that you're using naughty words?" Elliot's voice was taunting, like a bully in the schoolyard picking on the smaller kids.

"Elliot," breathed Yasmin as calmly and patiently as she could manage, "please, _please_, stop being an arse for a few minutes. You're giving me a headache." But her words were still icy, not having forgotten what Elliot had been about to call her.

"You are a headache yourself, so no surprises there," he muttered.

"Oh, nice one," Yasmin spat. It came out too quickly and jumbled, and it was easy to tell that she had been trying to restrain herself from saying it.

"Believe me, I've got plenty more."

"You must not have many friends back home with that kind of personality."

Elliot chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, I do."

"Who said I was worrying?"

"Very funny."

"You know, it's rude to eavesdrop," came a voice from her side.

She started forward out of surprise before relaxing once more. "Stop doing that, will you? It's bad enough that I'm nervous as it is."

"Sorry," Jack said. But he was smiling as if he wasn't sorry at all. "But I was under the impression that Kitty Jones didn't get nervous."

Kitty laughed shrilly. "Oh, of course. Why would I get nervous?"

Jack's lips twitched involuntarily, and his carefree look vanished. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," said Kitty stonily. He wasn't convinced. "_I'm_ ready. I'm not so sure about the rest of us, though."

"Oh." Her reply had not been what he was expecting.

Neither of them said anything, instead settling on looking out onto the Thames. It was calm at midnight, the water eerily still. Everything was serene.

But not for long.

"Bastard!" Thomas cried angrily from behind them. Jack and Kitty's eyes met and they laughed.

So much for tension.

-

Only minutes later, they were inside the boat. There were three hallways running down the length of the ship, or at least it appeared that way. They couldn't really tell as it was pitch black inside and they didn't want to risk using a flashlight, especially when so much was at stake. It was here that they ran into the first obstacle in their path.

"Okay, let's split up," Kitty announced to the group.

Yasmin gave her an odd look. "Are you sure we should split up?"

"Of course," said Kitty. "In case this is an ambush, they might not be able to get all of us."

"But if it is an ambush, then we're definitely going to get caught," Katherine stated. "If we're going to split up, we need to be in big groups, right?"

"Okay, just do whatever you guys want to." Kitty crouched down and lifted a hatch in the middle of the path. "I don't really care. I'm going by myself."

She dropped down through the hole and onto a thin carpet beneath. Someone kicked the hatch shut behind her, and if she had thought that the level above was pitch black, then this was just the epitome of darkness.

If she was to go forward in this darkness, her eyes certainly wouldn't be guiding her. Standing up, she straightened her arms out in front of her and began feeling her way slowly to the other end of the hallway.

She shouldn't have gotten angry with them. Kitty knew that they were just doing what they thought best, they were just doing what they thought they could to save themselves from their own fear. But she remembered Gladstone's tomb. The only remaining survivors of the Resistance were Nick, who ran before anyone could stop him, Hopkins, who hadn't been there, and her, who had used a piece of silver to distract Honorius the afrit. She was still alive because of dumb luck.

Kitty shivered, and she would have wrapped her arms around herself if she didn't need them for "seeing". It was colder than she had thought it would be. She was doing her best to keep quiet but due to the clattering of her teethwas failing miserably.

And what was she looking for? Where would this weapon be? She had left before they had even had the chance to discuss that. It was probably in a big room. Kitty didn't know. After they had done their sweep of the ship, they would come back to that issue. Although they had never really agreed on a spot to meet up after the sweep. Her fault.

There were screams above her, knocking her from her reverie. No. No. This couldn't be happening.

More screams.

A few seconds passed.

Yells, plenty of them. She counted all of them over in her head… That was enough for the entire Resistance – minus her.

It was at that moment that her hands hit something: a ladder. Apparently, she was in the cargo area of the ship. How had she not noticed? Maybe she could get the weapon and – no.

No. There were more important things at the moment. She didn't have time.

Kitty put one hand above her head and grabbed a rusty rung and slowly pulled herself up the ladder. It was tedious work, but as she progressed she went faster, ignoring the numerous cuts she received on her hands. Her blood made the ladder slippery, and on one occasion got in her eye, but she couldn't see as it was, anyway.

Finally, her head hit something hard, and she swore. Reaching with one hand to feel it, she instantly recognized what it was. It was a hatch, or more appropriately the lever to a hatch. She loosened it as she hung on with one hand, and after what seemed like ages lifted the hatch up. Kitty stuck her head out quickly and looked around the immediate area. It was too dark; she couldn't see a thing. Well, that meant that whomever had brought down her friends would be blind, too, so it was a fair fight. Sort of.

Kitty put her hands facedown on the edges of the opening and pushed herself upwards and onto the floor. She didn't really know where to go. She could see a hallway running to her sides, where at each end there was light coming in from a small window. Backwards would be no good, for she hadn't heard anyone walking above her. Forwards it was, then.

Straight-backed, she began creeping forward slowly. The beating of her heart was clogging her head, or else she would have heard nervous breathing in the direction she was going. But she didn't.

Instead, she saw the source of the breathing.

Kitty had not been able to see him until she was up close, less than a meter away. Most likely, he had been able to see her (after all, she had been standing in the lighted hallway), and had not moved. But now, it was too late. She was too close to him.

After an uneasy silence, he spoke.

"Hello, Kitty Jones. Fancy meeting you here."

-

Kitty returned to the current situation. Here John Mandrake was, stationed firmly in front of her with that infuriating arrogance of his. The Resistance had made a fatal mistake, and he damn well knew it. He wasn't an idiot, after all.

But what could she do now? The rest of them were caught, or at least detained. What could she do to help them?

_No, wait_, Kitty thought. _What can I do to help _me?

What could she do? She was caught, red-handed, and there was no chance that – wait a second.

All that stood in her way was John Mandrake. Did it look like there were any demons in the area? No, and she knew from prior experience that if Bartimaeus was in the area she probably would have already been knocked out or something of the sort.

Mandrake was alone. He was the only thing in her way.

"It is useless to struggle, Ms. Jones," said Mandrake in an all-too-calm voice. "It does not matter what you do. Even if you do somehow manage to escape, we will find you. We've already captured your friends."

Kitty's eyes locked on his intently. "Well, I guess I'll just have to try my chances, then."

She burst forward and knocked him off of his feet, and he fell to the floor with a grunt. Without looking back, she ran down the hallway as fast as she could and threw the door open at the entrance to the ship.

Kitty Jones wasn't going to be a stationary target.

-

She had kept running, running until she disappeared into the streets, until she blended in. She had kept running until finally she reached a familiar door engraved into the surface of the London cafés.

Kitty opened the door slowly and entered the cellar as she closed the door behind her. That same pipe was still leaking as it had only hours before, when she hadn't been the only one not captured. They had met here so many times… After they found Dylan… After Mandrake had nearly caught them… Katherine had tried to cheer Kitty up in her own odd way, and it brought a smile to Kitty's face remembering that.

But now they were all captured. Most likely because of her. As if her conscience wasn't dragged down already.

Kitty knew that she couldn't let the guilt catch up to her, though. She had to stay ahead of it while she managed to stay out of the grasp of the Empire, and along the way she would have to find a method of freeing the Resistance from their certain imprisonment. It was no easy task, rest assured, but she had to do it.

Flying down the stairs, she hurried over to the small ditch under the staircase in which weapons and other stolen items were held. She couldn't fit much in her pockets – maybe she could stick something small into her trainers – but she gathered as much as she could, which wasn't much at all. If she got into a fight with a magician, she had better chances just trying to distract them and run than actually taking them on head-to-head.

Kitty stood up as she stuck one more Detonation stick in her pocket and kicked dirt on the items she could not bring, as if that would protect them. She turned and hurried back up the stairs and out of the cellar, careful to shut the door behind her. Time was what she needed, time to think of an idea, but first, she had to make a visit. It was lucky that she was not too far away; it was perhaps a fifteen-minute walk if she took the back-roads and the alleys. She knew they never came to this part of town, or she would have located farther away, but she knew it was safe, as it was at least a twenty-minute drive if one used the roads as they were sure to do.

She stuck her hands in her pockets casually to make sure that nothing she was carrying fell out, as that would be extremely inconvenient, especially if one of them exploded. Of course, if one of them exploded, she might not have lived to see the consequences.

With those gloomy thoughts, Kitty trekked along the allies of the city. Flats were sprawled around her, sometimes interrupted by an occasional park or business or even a restaurant. She had to cross major streets every few minutes, but for the most part she stayed hidden in the so-called underbrush of the concrete forest, and this suited her just fine.

Suddenly, the forest stopped. It didn't really stop, actually; the unfamiliarity of it all stopped. They weren't just buildings anymore. It appeared.

Her childhood home.

It had been so long since she had left it for the last time. The memory was not a fond one, and was clogged far too much by the presence of Mandrake himself. But here she felt peace, solitude. She felt tranquility.

They were probably in there, her parents, sleeping soundly without a care in the world. Kitty envied them, actually. They weren't the ones risking their lives for a cause, and such a hopeless one at that.

Maybe it was the feeling of calm that Kitty had been feeling at the moment. Maybe it was the police cars that had pulled up so arrogantly outside her old home. And maybe, just maybe, it was the startled officer staring directly at her that had given her mind the kick it needed to devise the riskiest plan she had ever tried.

Before the officer could yell that he had found her, Kitty turned around and, as she had so many times that day, ran away.

-

The area surrounding the flat of John Mandrake was fairly nice. There weren't any rundown buildings and wasn't any need for barred windows as there were in the more suspicious parts of town, although there was the occasional graffiti sprayed across a wall. But the graffiti never lasted, as this was a residential area dominated by magicians, and in this way it was so different from the neighborhood that contained the headquarters of the Resistance.

In all honesty, though, they had never required cleanliness. They _relished_ that they lived somewhere so different that it might have been a different city. It was just one more difference between them and the magicians.

Kitty could already hear the sirens in the distance as she picked the lock to the door on the roof of the flat. They added to her anxiety, but as the lock fell uselessly to the stone beneath her, it didn't matter. She knew this was stupid, she was thinking she would get caught as she twisted the doorknob and stepped into the cramped attic space. Mandrake probably had protective magic swarming his home, particularly such an inconspicuous entrance.

Apparently, he didn't. No alarms went off, no vines shot out from the walls. He must have forgotten in his excitement about their future encounter. He couldn't be home. His car wasn't there. What a dolt.

As she crept through the small room, she recognized a pentacle drawn onto the floor with numerous books adorning its side. This had to be the place where he summoned his servants.

Kitty sat against the wall, next to the door to the main living area, and waited. If Mandrake wasn't home, this wouldn't work at all. She needed to be patient.

Waiting was a wonderful inspiration for thinking, though, as she soon found out. Thoughts began drifting across her conscience, some of which she hadn't considered in her rush. How had he known they would be on the ship? Had Glen's confidant betrayed them? Was one of their number a traitor? How –

Two voices began to come into earshot all of a sudden. A door opened.

Mandrake was home.

"… That was certainly fun," someone was saying. Bartimaeus, of course. Kitty would never forget the djinni's voice, even if she tried. It had a knack for sticking to a person whether they liked it or not.

There was a grunt. "Depends on what your definition of 'fun' is."

That would be Mandrake. He certainly didn't seem too happy.

Bartimaeus laughed as she heard the door slam shut. "Oh, don't tell me you're sour about not getting the girl," he prodded manipulatively. He was trying to anger Mandrake, she could tell. "I mean, she is very difficult to capture. Even the more able magicians would have a spot of trouble with her."

"Shut up," sighed Mandrake. Annoyance laced his tone. "I'm tired."

"No time for that. The police cars are right behind us." For the first time, she noticed that the sirens were growing closer at a rapid speed, and her fists tightened into compacted balls impulsively. "I guess they think this Kitty is going to come after you. She's not _that_ thick, is she?"

Kitty tried to prevent herself from knocking the door open and strangling the djinni, and luckily, she succeeded.

"Hm," was all Mandrake had to offer at that particular train of thought. "Where is Morris? I might call him to make sure cars are outside his residence also, if only to get some of these blasted police away from me."

"Well, he ran straight out of the ship and called in reinforcements after you started screaming like a pansy." Bartimaeus paused. "And then… the cops came and got the Resistance members we captured. No doubt they took them to the Tower. Morris left before they even arrived, I remember, because he never even saw the lot that I reeled in. No worries, I'll show him when we interrogate them eventually."

Mandrake said nothing.

"He did pretty well, didn't he?" mused Bartimaeus quietly. "He took out three of them. You wouldn't expect it of him, though. I doubt he knows what the word 'aggression' means."

His master coughed. "Morris isn't aggressive. He's just very good at solving problems. He was presented with a problem: how to detain three members of a terrorist group. And he solved it. It's what he does."

"I guess." The djinni didn't seem very convinced. "I think I'm going to go do something productive. I'm far too bored. Would you mind if I rampaged through your wardrobe to pass the time?"

"Sure," said Mandrake breezily, as if he was far too occupied to even process what his servant was proposing. "Go ahead."

"Okay, then. Call if you've got any more – er – _adventures_ you'd like to share."

He trudged up what must have been stairs and far too close to the attic. His footsteps finally faded away, and Kitty let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. This was her best opportunity. It was a gamble, of course, but it was one she was willing to take, especially when the payoff was so high, and if she delayed any longer she didn't think she'd have the heart to go through with her plan.

Standing up, she took one last breath and opened the door to the flat of her main enemy.

Mandrake was staring intently at a table when she stepped into the second story of his home. Well, he wasn't staring at a table, but rather what was on the table: a chessboard. He would mutter to himself every few moments, but besides those murmurs, he showed no other signs of life. He didn't even seem to have noticed that the door to his attic had opened and the much-wanted leader of the Resistance had stepped out of it.

Kitty thanked her good luck (well, momentary good luck) and tiptoed to the stairs. Taking them one by one, she slowly descended down the steps and into the living room. Mandrake was seated on the sofa only a few meters away from her. He still hadn't acknowledged her presence.

Very carefully, she made her way towards him. She didn't really know what to do at this point; she thought of covering his mouth so he couldn't yell for help but that would contradict what she had come here to do. No, she had to be delicate, she had to be smooth.

Just as she was thinking that, she tripped on a shoe and went tumbling to the ground.

Mandrake looked up for the first time in minutes and stared at her with eyes full of shock. His mouth fell open, and she found herself unable to move.

"K-Kitty Jones," he stammered. "What a pleasant surprise."

His words weren't nearly as intimidating as they were meant to be, but then again, Kitty herself was strewn across his floor. She hurried to her feet, making sure she made no hostile moves.

"Hello, Mandra- Mr. Mandrake," she stated in as dignified a voice as she could. "I have come with a proposition."

"Please, call me John," he said with a coy smile. "You have proven that despite your… social status that you may be considered my equal, that I will admit."

He was toying with her, she knew it. But despite himself, he looked intrigued. He wasn't already arresting her, and she had hoped that his arrogance and curiosity would lead him to at least hear her out. So far, her plan was working.

"So, Kitty – if I may have the honor of calling you by that name." She nodded slowly, and he continued. "What is this proposition?"

"I need your help."

This amused him apparently, as he chuckled. "That much is obvious. But why should I help you?"

"Because it's what's right," Kitty replied adamantly. He looked at her, unfazed. "Magicians aren't above commoners. You know it's immoral. Magicians are corrupt, they're power hungry. Commoners are mistreated, and you know it. You aren't as tainted as the rest of them, I can feel that you aren't! As I have no more allies, I need your help! You aren't like them, Man- John! You aren't corrupt!"

His eyes flashed – a flicker of doubt, maybe? – but that passed.

"You have not convinced me."

"Please," she begged. Kitty would have never thought she would be begging John Mandrake for mercy, but here she was. She had to swallow all of her pride to do it, but it was all she had left. "You have to help me. You must!"

He shook his head. "Really, Kitty, I would have thought you had some real proposition."

"I can't believe this!" Kitty exclaimed furiously. Her voice was desperate, and she knew this was her last chance. Her plan wasn't working so far, but she couldn't lose this gamble. She had risked it all, and it needed to show for something. "I can't believe this at all! To think that I saved your life for no reason – _twice_! I could have left you to die, but I didn't! And this is my repayment!"

This was her metaphorical trump card, of course. She could feel that Mandrake wasn't as bad as the rest of the magicians, and she could have sworn that Bartimaeus had even mentioned it to her in passing. She had felt some regret in him when he had not delivered on his promise to her, something that Julius Tallow or any other magician would not have. John Mandrake was not corrupted, or at least not completely. He owed her his life.

The phone rang, breaking the tension. Slowly, Mandrake lowered one finger to the machine and pressed a button. "Hello?"

"Mr. Mandrake?" A man's voice erupted from the speakerphone. "This is Lieutenant Griffin from the police. We believe the convict Kathleen Jones may have sought you out. Would you let us search the perimeter?"

Mandrake paused, and Kitty knew this was the moment of truth. This was the moment when he would choose his loyalty: to the woman that had saved his life or to his employers.

He regarded her wearily for a while. After long moments of contemplation, his hand drifted to the chessboard and knocked down the two kings.

"The rules have changed," he mumbled to himself.

He straightened out of his seat and brushed his cuffs by habit. "Hold on one minute, Lieutenant. I'll check my security tapes and then get back to you. We won't want to be too conspicuous, will we?"

"Oh, of course not, Mr. Mandrake. We'll be waiting."

Mandrake looked at her one last time and it was then that she knew. He had chosen.

He was repaying his debt.

"Come," he hissed to her, as he grabbed her by the hand and dragged her up the stairs, where Bartimaeus was waiting expectantly.

"Well, _that_ was interesting," he commented as he glanced at Kitty. "I was watching the whole thing, of course. You weren't all that silent, Kitty Jones. Mostly he's just extremely ignorant. Gets his head shoved too far up his arse, he does."

Mandrake made no indication that he had heard Bartimaeus as he opened the door to the attic, the same door Kitty had entered the flat through.

"Hurry, Bartimaeus," he said in a raspy voice. He refused to look at Kitty, however, and she wondered if he was regretting his decision as he led her to the door and opened it in a businesslike manner. Stepping out, he beckoned for she and Bartimaeus to do likewise, his eyes still focused straight ahead.

Bartimaeus closed the door behind them and was about to make a probable scathing and sarcastic comment when Mandrake stopped him.

"Which way is the river?"

Kitty tried to think but her brain must have turned to mush as she was unable to recall any facts about the city, or anything for that matter. She was too shocked that her risk had worked, or was working.

"That way," said Bartimaeus, pointing to their right.

Mandrake nodded. "And what's the largest bird you can transform into?"

There was a swirl of activity around the djinni and a large eagle reappeared in his place, looking at his master with a very pleased grin, if eagles could grin.

"Will this do?"

Mandrake didn't answer and instead jumped up onto Bartimaeus's back. The eagle squawked indignantly.

"Hey, what was that for? You may be bone-thin but you still weigh _something_!"

"Quiet," said Mandrake in an uncharacteristically authoritative voice, and the spirit stopped his jabbering immediately, something Kitty had never witnessed. He motioned to Kitty. "Get on."

She obliged and pulled herself in front of him with some effort, as Bartimaeus was now standing upright and the magician was taking up a good amount of room. He scooted backwards to allow her more space.

"Better?"

Kitty nodded. "Yes."

Her head was still swimming when Mandrake ordered Bartimaeus to fly off towards the Thames, as high and out of sight as he could. The police lights soon disappeared as the clouds became their cover, soaking them with their moisture and chilling Kitty to the bone. More disconcerting, however, were the arms wrapped tentatively around her, those of Mandrake, someone she still regarded as an enemy. The arms were only there so he didn't fall off, she knew, but the whole situation was still a blur to her.

"Higher," stated Mandrake as sirens wailed below them. "They're following us. We must still be visible"

"Well, I can't really get much higher without killing you," snapped Bartimaeus.

"Right. I guess we'll have to go with my back-up plan, then."

Bartimaeus snorted. "Sounds lovely."

"Fly to the Thames," said Mandrake firmly. His arms tightened around Kitty as they passed through one particularly thick cloud group. "We can lose them there."

"Right-o."

They began dropping slightly and now the cops megaphone-enhanced voices could be heard beneath them.

"Demon, please release your captives from custody!" yelled someone – Lieutenant Griffin, if Kitty remembered correctly. Bartimaeus laughed.

"Did you hear that? Now they think I've taken you both prisoner!"

They were completely out of the clouds now, and far too close to the police for comfort, although still a fairly large distance ahead of them. The river was near, and Mandrake's head jutted forward uneasily as he peered out in front of them.

"Land there," he commanded, pointing at a large marina building hanging over the edge of the water.

"Got it."

The eagle's wings gradually stopped flapping altogether until they were purely gliding. With some degree of difficulty, Bartimaeus steered them to the marina and they landed on the building bumpily, the sirens still some distance behind. Mandrake got off first, followed closely by Kitty, and Bartimaeus shivered.

"A bit cold, perhaps?" he said dryly.

"Change forms," stated Mandrake hurriedly. He glanced at the river meaningfully. "Something more suitable."

Bartimaeus nodded. "Right" The eagle disappeared to be replaced by a stone creature – a gargoyle. "This fit your job description?"

"It'll do." Mandrake grabbed Kitty's wrist and dragged her to the edge of the building before turning to her and grabbing her around the waist tightly. "A Shield, please."

The djinni nodded once more and something buzzed around the three of them. Kitty couldn't see it, but she could feel it was there.

"If I may ask… why?" Bartiamaeus's eyes drifted to the river. "Oh. I guess that works."

Mandrake nodded before facing Kitty once more. His eyes were burning now, burning with fiery determination like Kitty had never seen from him. For the first time, the monotonous John Mandrake looked alive.

"Do you trust me?"

Kitty did a double-take. "What?"

"Do you trust me?" he repeated.

She glanced to the river to the gargoyle to the looming police cars to Mandrake once more, fire still raging, before nodding.

"Yes, I suppose."

"Good. Bartimaeus, get ready," he said, drawing Kitty closer.

The spirit gave him a thumbs-up sign. "Ready when you are."

"Okay." Mandrake let out a deep breath and tucked his head next to Kitty's. He was shaking. "On the count of three, then."

"One…"

The waves crashed against the shore furiously.

"Two…"

The sirens were only meters away.

"Three."

Mandrake leaned over the edge of the roof and took Kitty and Bartimaeus off with him into the rampaging depths of the Thames, where the icy depths consumed them like fire consuming oxygen.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes:** I like this chapter a lot because it's one I've been building up to for quite a while. All of the fights between the Resistance have been leading up to this one point in the story, and now everything else leads to the conclusion of it all. It won't be much longer before we're done, and this was an important step in the process. This is only from Kitty's perspective, though, and as you'll see in Chapter 16, Nathaniel's point of view during this explains a lot and is very important.

**Next Chapter: **In _We've Got A Hostage Situation_, the three are out of the river and in the middle of what seems like nowhere. Tension is high, and so is curiousity, as Bartimaeus wants to know why Nathaniel chose Kitty over the government. The three most different beings must become a team, and they also must discover that sometimes the best laid plans are those that are spontaneous.


	16. We've Got a Hostage Situation

I'm sorry about the wait. The next chapter wouldn't be written for a while (or I couldn't convince myself to write it), and for the past few days, I've only been able to write it after midnight, and to be honest, my writing skills aren't that wonderful at such a late hour. But I got some time today and finally finished it up, and it's continuing the trend of each chapter being longer. I suspect that Chapter Eighteen is going to be very long, but I'm really going to start making an effort to get each chapter out in two weeks or less, because I'm reaching the end and Book 3 is going to be released fairly soon.

On a different note, you'll all start to notice that this story is going to get progressively darker. It's been somewhat dark so far, but it's going to get a lot more sinister as we go forward. Basically all of you have noticed my shipping slant, but I'm going to warn you beforehand, the ending won't be as happy as you'd all like. Character deaths? Of course. I've decided who's going to die very firmly, and have a particularly nasty injury in mind for one of our characters. I've thought out a lot of the backstory for my original characters, and that too will come into play. In fact, after this chapter, I think we've got six chapters left, unless I feel the need to add one for some reason. Also, thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! They help, I promise.

And with that said... Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment!Tweak! (Had to honor the release of HBP.)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Bartimaeus Trilogy, which belongs to Jonathan Stroud and his respective publishing companies. I do not own the characters, settings, or situations that are familiar to the Bartimaeus Trilogy, and only own my plot and my characters. And I definitely don't own Bishop Park.

**NOTE: **I edited a mistake in this in which Bartimaeus said Nathaniel's name. Thanks to the reviewer that pointed it out! throws cookie

**Chapter Sixteen  
**We've Got a Hostage Situation

_**"I'm no stranger to this place  
Where real life and dreams collide.  
And even though I fall from grace,  
I will keep the dream alive."  
-Oasis's **"Keep the Dream Alive"_

The Thames was certainly not the most comfortable river Nathaniel knew of. He definitely would not take a casual swim in it if he had a choice in the matter, and this was much worse than a casual swim, also.

Of course, the girl – no, young woman – in his arms certainly didn't make thinks any cozier. Well, some part of him that he tried to ignore enjoyed the situation at hand, but it was awkward, to say the least. After all, she was a fugitive, and he was the one who had been chasing her. But he didn't really want to think about that… yet.

Those weren't all of his worries as he had made the fall with Kitty and Bartimaeus. His main concern had been the Shield and whether his plan broke any law of physics. By the true definition of a Shield, he had inferred that the waters would not seep in through the magical barrier and fill their lungs until they could no longer breathe, and that they would not hit the hard bottom of the river but bounce off of it.

Luckily, he was right.

The Shield had gone a step further, actually, and appeared to be maintaining the exact air pressure of the spot up on the roof that they had jumped from, not that air pressure was anything to really get too anxious about. It was also filtering in clean oxygen and filtering out the carbon dioxide, which impressed Nathaniel tremendously. The definition he had memorized was simple: a Shield protects its inhabitants from anything that could seriously cause them physical harm. Nathaniel had never bothered to test it in water, nor had he had a reason to, but it had worked, and now he was relieved.

There was the slight matter of what they would do from their position floating around in a river that was not known as the kindest route to travelers, but he was rather pleased that they were alive at the moment and thus took a few seconds to revel in his victory.

No doubt Bartimaeus was very pleased with himself, also. He would be boasting on the quality of his spell for weeks.

The minutes dragged on as the current pushed them along as if they were weightless, bouncing off of the rocks at the bottom of the river like a rubber ball. No one spoke, or if they did they just weren't heard over the roar of the rushing water. If Bartimaeus had a barbed jibe to annoy Nathaniel with, he kept it to himself.

They had gone quite some distance when they tumbled rather forcefully off a large rock in the middle of their path. To Nathaniel's surprise, they were pushed out of the water and onto land, actual dry land. Somehow the current had been overpowered by a stone.

"Get us back in there," he said weakly to Bartimaeus.

But the djinni didn't listen to him, and instead took down the shield completely. "No."

"What?"

"I couldn't hold it up much longer," Bartimaeus replied simply. "And besides, this is as good as it's going to get for us."

It was then that Nathaniel looked around for the first time. They were sitting on a strip of grass overlooking a long stretch of the Thames, and a small, dense forest was behind them. It was a familiar sight to Nathaniel, but he wasn't one for parks, so – _parks_. Of course.

"Bishop Park?" Bartimaeus nodded. Nathaniel wiped the water from his eyes and blinked. "I remember that we had to add a forest to this park around three years ago because of some irritated conservationists. It used to be a fairly small park, but now… that's the forest behind us, I'd guess. A real masterpiece that is; it took some good magic to get all of that growth to occur in only a few weeks."

"It seems that your lot's tampering nature will help us," stated the gargoyle as he grabbed Kitty's hand and helped her stand. Nathaniel hurried to his feet and brushed his suit off tediously, noticing the criminal once more, and not wanting to appear as unorganized as he had. He was now on the run from the government as well, but one's image is always important, no matter the circumstances.

Suit properly brushed off and image restored (he hoped), he returned to Bartimaeus's comment. "I don't see how it can help us, although it does provide a nice backdrop if we want to shoot a movie."

"Well, you don't want to go hiding out in broad daylight, do you?"

"Oh. Good point."

And so Nathaniel and Kitty followed Bartimaeus into the thick underbrush as the gargoyle cleared the way until finally they reached a small, cramped clearing. There wasn't much room to move about, but it was completely cut off from the rest of the park, and would serve them just fine.

"This'll do," grunted Bartimaeus. He sat down upon a rock and crossed his legs as if he was preparing to meditate. "I'll go get some food later, unless you both want to try your hand at finding edible berries in this fake old thing. But for now… I need to rest. I don't really care what the hell you both do as long as it doesn't get the army swarming down on us."

"Always a pleasure to travel with," Nathaniel said in a quiet voice, the words not coming out as biting as he had originally intended them to be. Bartimaeus was actually being helpful on his own. The last time Nathaniel recalled this happening was when the djinni had been angling to get released. Nathaniel took his own seat next to Bartimaeus, a safe distance from Kitty, and laid his head back on the grass lazily. Lying down was good for thinking, and he thought he might as well get comfortable. They weren't going out in public any time soon.

He could see from the corner of his eye that Bartimaeus was looking at him carefully, like he didn't really know what to think of what he was seeing. After a few moments of this Bartimaeus turned his head away and instead diverted his attention onto Kitty.

"That's some gash," he stated. This only served to further Nathaniel's suspicions – Bartimaeus had never shown any interest in the injuries of mortals before. "Out here it might get infected with who-knows-what unless you take the proper action. I know of a flower, the sagacious lily, which'll help you with that. Of course, only if you're interested. I think it grows around here, but the magicians have been messing with nature so much lately that I don't know what to think."

Nathaniel heard a small cough from a few feet away. "I'm interested."

"I thought you might be. It's pretty distinguishable: it's got red, blue, and green petals with a stem that has one single thorn. Be careful for the thorn, though, as it'll poison you if it cuts you."

"Red, blue, and green," came Kitty's reply. "I guess that should be easy to find." She paused. "Thanks."

Bartimaeus showed a toothy smile. "No problem. I live to serve. Quite literally, actually."

Nathaniel heard a rustling in the direction they had come from and a sigh escape from Bartimaeus.

"Now she's gone. I thought you might loosen your tongue if she wasn't around."

"_What?_"

Bartimaeus raised his embossed eyebrow. "You can't tell me you seriously thought I was being nice and caring just for the fun of it."

"No, of course not," said Nathaniel, laughing despite himself. "I wondered. But… that flower. It doesn't exist, does it? I've never heard of such a thing."

"No," the gargoyle said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Made it up completely. She'll come back in a bit saying she couldn't find it, and I'll say it's because of you damn magicians, which she'll accept without further prodding. But it gives us about fifteen minutes, I'd guess."

A bird chirped somewhere around them. "Fifteen minutes for what?"

"To talk, smart one. And I thought you were some prodigy or something." He threw a stone into the forest and swore as another chirp came. "I was hoping to kill it. That chirping is bloody annoying. But I digress –"

"'Digress'? Along with 'sagacious', that's two in as many minutes."

"Ha, ha. I guess it's ironic that when I want to be serious you're looking to improve your stand-up comedy skills." The bird hummed and he scowled momentarily as his hands searched the ground for a suitable throwing rock. "I want to know why you did it, of course."

The question didn't catch Nathaniel unawares. He had been expecting it, and trying to delay it, as he didn't know the answer himself. "Did what?"

"Saved the girl."

The incident in his flat came hurrying back to him in one swift rush of blood to the head.

-

"That was certainly fun," Bartimaeus remarked dryly as the door to the flat opened.

Nathaniel grunted in response. "Depends on what your definition of 'fun' is."

His words were low and mumbled. He did not want to talk right now, and was not in a talking mood. He was extremely disappointed at the moment.

Bartimaeus slammed the door shut behind him and laughed. "Oh, don't tell me you're sour about not getting the girl. I mean, she is very difficult to capture. Even the more able magicians would have a spot of trouble with her." It was easy to tell that he was baiting him, but Nathaniel was not in the mood for such games.

"Shut up. I'm tired" He sighed, wondering how his disgruntled tone would appear to an outsider.

Sirens began to come into earshot as he took a seat on the sofa. "No time for that. The police cars are right behind us," Bartimaeus mused. "I guess they think this Kitty is going to come after you. She's not _that_ thick, is she?"

Nathaniel heard something knock above them. Probably more rats. He hated rats, but they loved his home.

"Hm," he said, making a mental note to himself to call an exterminator sometimes soon. But speaking of calling, a phone would actually help him. "Where is Morris? I might call him to make sure cars are outside his residence also, if only to get some of these blasted police away from me."

"Well, he ran straight out of the ship and called in reinforcements after you started screaming like a pansy." Bartimaeus was trying to annoy him again, but this time Nathaniel held his comments to himself. "And then… the cops came and got the Resistance members we captured. No doubt they took them to the Tower. Morris left before they even arrived, I remember, because he never even saw the lot that I reeled in. No worries, I'll show him when we interrogate them eventually."

Nathaniel did not voice that he thought it sad that Bartimaeus was so hopeless he tried to impress anybody he met, even Morris.

"He did pretty well, didn't he? He took out three of them. You wouldn't expect it of him, though. I doubt he knows what the word 'aggression' means."

Nathaniel coughed. "Morris isn't aggressive. He's just very good at solving problems. He was presented with a problem: how to detain three members of a terrorist group. And he solved it. It's what he does."

He had learned this from previous experience with the technician, and also from talk he had heard. Although Morris didn't know it, his efforts didn't go totally unappreciated, but his personality was talked about in a different way. He was known as a clever magician, if not a powerful or ambitious one.

"I guess," said Bartimaeus as he inspected his fingernails casually. "I think I'm going to go do something productive. I'm far too bored. Would you mind if I rampaged through your wardrobe to pass the time?"

Nathaniel processed the information, but knew the djinni well enough to know that he would do nothing of the sort. He would stay as far away from Nathaniel's clothes as he could. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Okay, then. Call if you've got any more – er – _adventures_ you'd like to share."

He turned on his heel and stomped up the stairs next to the scarcely used attic and guest bedroom. After a few moments, Nathaniel could hear no more signs of him, and thus assumed he was alone, as he wanted to be. It wouldn't have really mattered if Bartimaeus had decided to not go through with his plans and instead stayed at the top of the stairs, for Nathaniel was too immersed in the chessboard in front of him to acknowledge anything else. He was in his own world.

The game had gotten too complicated from the previous night's events to really play it out at all. They had decimated the Resistance, at least if his estimates were correct. That warranted the removal of, oh, both knights, both rooks, a bishop, and a pawn. That worked out nicely.

But something still bothered him. The queen was still out there. And behind her, the king.

He was wary of the fact that Kitty Jones was probably not the mastermind behind all of this. After all, the assassin that had nearly destroyed him in Prague two years before had mentioned another master above Lovelace, one even more powerful, and Nathaniel strongly doubted this could be Pennyfeather, or Jones. There was no way. They weren't intelligent enough. Someone else was pulling the strings, whether Jones knew it or not.

Unfortunately – or maybe even fortunately – it was at that moment something came crashing down on the ground behind him.

Nathaniel's head snapped up jerkily as he gazed dumbly at the very real body of none other than Kitty Jones strewn across his floor.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "K-Kitty Jones. What a pleasant surprise."

_Smooth_, _dolt. That'll intimidate her_. A smile flickered across his face. _Then again, she's the one on the ground in an enemy's home._

The convict rushed to her feet as carefully and elegantly as she could, something that would have been rather humorous in any other situation

"Hello, Mandra- Mr. Mandrake. I have come with a proposition."

"Please, call me John," said Nathaniel with a smile that would have chilled lesser commoners to the bone. But it was just hiding the fact that he had just realized that with Bartimaeus upstairs, she had a very distinct opportunity to kill him. "You have proven that despite your… social status that you may be considered my equal, that I will admit."

She didn't appear to know that his steely, snake-like façade was fairly thin, although he may have showed off a bit too much of his interest in the situation. But no one was perfect.

"So, Kitty – if I may have the honor of calling you by that name." He waited for her affirmation and then continued. "What is this proposition?"

"I need your help."

He chuckled in a nasty, icy manner that would have made villains from Makepeace's plays proud. "That much is obvious. But why should I help you?"

"Because it's what's right," responded Jones – _Kitty_ – in a very resilient, very squeaky voice. "Magicians aren't above commoners. You know it's immoral. Magicians are corrupt, they're power hungry. Commoners are mistreated, and you know it. You aren't as tainted as the rest of them, I can feel that you aren't! As I have no more allies, I need your help! You aren't like them, Man- John! You aren't corrupt!"

His interest was grabbing a dangerous hold of him. He shook it off, knowing fully well that this could not happen.

"You have not convinced me," he stated.

"Please." Was she… begging? "You have to help me. You must!"

"Really, Kitty, I would have thought you had some real proposition." Well, his voice broke a bit from surprise, but overall it was a conciliatory yet hostile statement.

"I can't believe this!" she growled angrily. He could hear the desperateness in her voice. She had taken a gamble, and it wasn't paying off. "I can't believe this at all! To think that I saved your life for no reason – _twice_! I could have left you to die, but I didn't! And this is my repayment!"

If he had been at all prepared, this should not have affected him. He should have seen it coming; after all, it was her greatest claim over him. She, a mere commoner, had saved him from a golem for no apparent reason, when he had betrayed her for his job.

The tension was broken by the ringing of a phone. He pushed a button on the machine and softly said, "Hello?"

"Mr. Mandrake? This is Lieutenant Griffin from the police. We believe the convict Kathleen Jones may have sought you out. Would you let us search the area?"

This was the point of no return. Now he must make his decision, and he had a nagging suspicion that he would not be able to turn back from whichever path he chose. If someone had explained the events of the day beforehand to him, he would not have believed it. He would never think to consider such a ludicrous offer. But seeing Kitty personally, hearing her voice, hearing her reminder that his life was a borrowed one, it struck something in him. It struck something that had belonged to the little boy that had not known a lick of magic, to the little boy who had not known much of anything and had no alias. Bartimaeus would say that it was the boy that wasn't John Mandrake, that it wasn't the ambitious magician known to the general public, but Nathaniel, the scared, innocent, little boy.

This was his last chance. Would he continue as John Mandrake, or try to reclaim the person known as Nathaniel? The two metaphorical roads were diverging in the woods; would he choose the path of the magician, the path more traveled, or the other, the road not taken?

Finally, his hand moved over to the chessboard. He had chosen.

"The rules have changed," he said to no one in particular as he knocked down the two kings. After a few moments of contemplation, he turned his attention elsewhere.

He stood and brushed his cuffs. "Hold on one minute, Lieutenant. I'll check my security tapes and then get back to you. We won't want to be too conspicuous, will we?"

He was laying it on thick now. No going back. No returning.

"Oh, of course not, Mr. Mandrake. We'll be waiting."

He looked at Kitty one last time and he knew that she knew, he knew that she recognized that he had changed. He had made a choice.

Nathaniel was repaying his debt.

"Come," he hissed to her, as he grabbed her by the hand and dragged her up the stairs, where Bartimaeus was waiting expectantly.

-

Nathaniel blinked. Had that only been minutes before? It seemed so distant, so faded, as if it had happened somewhere in his long forgotten past.

Someone cleared his or her throat. "Whenever you come down from the stratosphere, you can answer my question."

"Huh?"

"You've been out of it for a few minutes," Bartimaeus explained irritably. "I asked you a question and your eyes glassed over and you became a mute all of a sudden."

"Oh, yeah. I was thinking."

"Must've been one hell of a thought."

"Kind of." Nathaniel scratched his head lazily. "What was your question again?"

It was not like him to be so ignorant or forgetful, and Bartimaeus showed his concern by smirking. "Are you losing your memory? I didn't think that you were aging that quickly. Why, I remember the days when your voice was as high as a whistle."

"What was the question?" snapped Nathaniel.

"I was getting to that." Bartimaeus squished a bug with his foot. "Why did you save the girl, Kitty Jones?"

"Oh," Nathaniel said. "Just got to thinking and made a decision."

Bartimaeus snorted. "Thank you for being so precise."

Nathaniel exhaled a breath he hadn't consciously been holding and tilted his head backwards. "I didn't want to be John Mandrake anymore. I'm sick of all of the rules that come with being a magician, I'm sick of not having a conscience anymore, and I'm sick of feeling guilty about my job and my decisions. I owed my life to her, and I decided to repay that debt. You were the one going on and on about the corruptness of magicians. I just acted."

Bartimaeus surveyed him with a cautious eye before smiling. "I have to say, I'm somewhat impressed. You chose the path of most resistance. It won't be easy, but if it's where you want to go, it's the only path you can take." He laughed. "You're right about that rules bit. Magicians aren't supposed to have kids. It's frowned upon. So that takes a little pressure off you with the ladies."

"You're exactly right, Bartimaeus. That's why I did it."

"I'm not called Bartimaeus the Intuitive for nothing."

At that moment the branches parted, revealing a slightly scratched, slightly annoyed Kitty.

"I didn't find any sagacious lily in the forest," she said icily.

Bartimaeus put up his best poker face. "Oh, really? That's a pity. I tell you, these damn magicians have gone and screwed up the entire ecosystem."

"Right. And you didn't know that."

Nathaniel noticed that her tongue had loosened, if only because she was angry. Interesting.

"Nope, didn't know it at all," he replied smoothly. "Of course, my knowledge of the mortal world is a bit limited, but I've got a full encyclopedia up here – " he pointed to his head " – about the Other Place, so if you've ever got any questions about my humble abode, fire away."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"As wonderful as this conversation is," Nathaniel stated in his best peacemaker tone, "I think we should start planning ahead. Actually, we don't even have a plan yet. I don't know what we're trying to do."

Kitty tugged at her sleeve. "Bring down the magicians."

"That's not fair," he said. "I'm a magician, but I'm helping you. I definitely plan on staying a magician, as I don't think the commoner life would suit me. Perhaps it would be better if you would clarify."

"Fine, I'll _clarify_. Our goal is to bring down this magician government."

Bartimaeus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Why?"

She glared at him. This was not a light subject. "What do you mean?"

"Why?" he repeated. "For every great cause there must be an actual reason behind it. Why should we bring down the magicians? How will it help?"

"They're horrible rulers. They've made the country a land of poverty."

"Yes, but they rule through fear and intimidation. If you bring them down, there will be mass chaos. People won't know what to do with themselves, and anarchy will spread."

Kitty was silent. Nathaniel, however, was intrigued by the concept. "What if we balance the government and make everyone equal? It's certainly not in my best interest to bring down all magicians, but if we could bring down our current government and make it so that commoners have the same opportunities as magicians, not only would the corruptness end, everyone would be satisfied."

"That sounds good," Kitty said to his surprise. "Yeah, I like that. If we brought down all magicians, we'd be no better than they are. If we brought balance, then we could fix things."

"If you're both for it, I guess I'm for it as well," Bartimaeus added.

"It won't be easy," Nathaniel said.

Kitty laughed dryly. "Of course. Nothing worth fighting for ever is."

He did not question her, but he had a feeling that she knew this from personal experience.

Bartimaeus smiled. "I guess it's settled then. Our goal is to bring balance to the government. We are now a team, a team made of a djinni, a convict, and a crackpot magician aiming to bring down the most powerful empire in the world, but we're a team nonetheless."

"That sums it up nicely," commented Nathaniel wittily. "The most unlikely team aiming for the most unlikely goal of any group of vigilantes ever to defy a magician government. It has a nice ring to it."

Kitty grinned at him. "But what is our first order of business?"

"Well, we should probably start with freeing your friends from the Tower. Rescuing so many people successfully from the Tower has never been succeeded before, and the last known escape of any kind that did not result in death, as in the escape of Duvall, was the escape of Bartimaeus here, and that was only because he was summoned."

"We'll need help from the inside," Bartimaeus said simply. "Right now they may think I kidnapped both of you so Na- I mean, John over here is clear for the moment, but once the smarter magicians get wind of the incident, they'll realize that I would never put myself in the company with the two of you if I had a choice. So you're probably both about to be convicts. Officially, at least."

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Kitty clucked her tongue doubtfully. "Are there any magicians that would help us?"

"Morris might," Nathaniel stated, wary of the fact that Bartimaeus had almost let his name slip. "He's kind of a loner. He's not big on causes or anything, but he'd probably just go along for the ride. He doesn't like the government that much. Everyone makes fun of him or ignores him completely."

"That's too risky," argued Bartimaeus. He flicked a stone into the air with one hand and caught it deftly with the other. "Is there anyone we could intimidate into helping us, just for a little bit?"

It only took a few seconds before Nathaniel's jesting looks prompted him into answering his own question.

"Oh. Of course. Ffoukes."

"Yeah."

Kitty's eyes darted between the two uneasily. "Who? The guy that summoned you?"

"Yep, the one and only," replied the gargoyle. "He was my master. That is, until John here intimidated him into swapping servants. He got a measly foliot in return. He'll do anything to save his own skin."

"Not too intelligent or skilled, though." Nathaniel rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept in over a day. "We might need better help."

"We'll have to do with what we can. I suggest we also attack as soon as possible, late tonight if we can. I'll go get some food and let you both get rest, but make sure one of you is keeping guard. Just because we're in the middle of Bishop Park doesn't mean we've fallen off the end of the Earth."

"Of course," Nathaniel replied. "Sounds good to me. I suppose we'll be making our actual plan as we go along?"

"Seeing as we don't have any information on the Tower's scheduled defenses yet, that makes sense." Bartimaeus leapt to his feet and approached the edge of the thicket. "I'll be going now. Just don't get yourselves caught."

"Got it."

He stepped into the forest and out of sight, and Nathaniel turned to Kitty.

"I'll keep watch first if you want…"

"No, I don't think I'd be able to sleep just yet," she said. She made a movement as if to pat him on the shoulder but pulled back. "You go ahead."

He nodded. "Alright."

Summoning a sleeping bag and an old pillow, he was about to lay down when he stopped. "Do you want me to summon you one as well?"

"That would be great."

He obliged, and another sleeping bag and pillow appeared on the ground next to her.

"Those should work," he said as he settled into the blanket and rested his head on the pillow. It was ridiculous that he was sleeping in a suit, but there wasn't much he could do. "G'night… or actually, g'day."

"Uh, yeah, g'day," she mumbled back.

Nathaniel was about to close his eyes when he heard her voice again.

"John?"

He rolled to face her. "Yes?"

She smiled again, and he couldn't help but feel as if this wasn't Kitty Jones the convict, but just Kitty Jones, who seemed to be a radically different person. "Thanks."

The simple show of gratitude caught him off-guard, but he recovered quickly. "You're welcome. It was no problem."

Nathaniel rolled back over and closed his eyes, although this time there was a definitive grin plastered onto his face.

They were a team.

-

He kept watch after Kitty and then they switched once more and then one final time before Bartimaeus returned with not only food but clothing. Nathaniel and Kitty ate the food without question, but as their meal came to an end, they turned to the clothes.

"What are those for?" Nathaniel asked. "I like my suit."

"Yes, well, it's filthy," replied Bartimaeus. "I transformed into you both so the clothes should fit although I couldn't directly transform into either of you, but they're close. All the essentials are in there, so don't worry about that. I was about to pick up a tooth brush but I settled on a comb."

Nathaniel held up his clothes doubtfully. "They look so –"

"Casual?" suggested the djinni. "I figured that that suit wouldn't do you much good, because the way I figure it, we're going to be running quite a bit, not that you're in any shape to run. That suit is not made for any kind of activity, so I settled on fairly nice clothing that wasn't too strict. They aren't overly casual, and you'd fit in at a casual restaurant if you went as a pair of teenagers going on a date, but if you're looking for Italian suits… well, I had to steal these, so tough luck. Also, Ffoukes is at his flat right now, so hurry up before he leaves. Don't worry, I'll close my eyes."

"Right," said Nathaniel to Kitty, still not sold on the clothes. "I guess we should both go change in the forest to avoid any uncomfortable situations."

"Of course. I'll take this side."

"Got it. And I'll take the opposite side."

They entered their respective sides of the forest and the clearing quickly vanished from sight. Nathaniel could not see much at all besides trees, and dirt, but as he changed, he preferred to block these things out. It was all so unsanitary. Surprisingly, everything fit rather well, even his fairly cheap, casual trainers, and he emerged from the forest shortly after Kitty.

"Well, you're changed. That's good. And I also go you these –" Bartimaeus held up two pairs of sunglasses and two hats "– just to help disguise you. It's not much, but it'll help. Although I recommend you put both in your pockets as we're flying again and we don't want them to fly off. That would be rather inconvenient."

"Right," said Nathaniel, stuffing the two accessories in his pocket without inspecting them for fear of saying something belittling and stupid. "If you will, shift to the eagle again, Bartimaeus."

He winked. "Got it, boss." Where the gargoyle had stood, a proud eagle now looked out upon the forest. "Good, no?"

"It's excellent," Kitty complimented. She nudged Nathaniel in the ribs lightly and extended her arm as an invitation. "Shall we?"

It took him a while to realize she was joking, but Nathaniel finally did. He took her arm and grinned. "Of course."

They jumped onto Bartimaeus once more, ignoring the djinni's complaints. "Your flirting makes me sick to the stomach, you know. Really, I'm about to vomit."

"Would you go already?"

"Alright, alright, hold on to your horses, I'm going."

They took off into the evening air, the wind whipping by them steadily. Nathaniel was in the rear position once more, his arms latched around Kitty securely, although this time their alliance was less rocky, and the tension was lessened. Bartimaeus chatted incessantly during the entire flight, but Nathaniel and Kitty mostly were able to ignore him and instead talked among themselves at intervals.

"The sad thing is, he's one of the more sane spirits out there," Nathaniel whispered to Kitty, his head over her shoulder as they began to descend.

She sighed. "I know."

"Oh, that's right. You were involved in the incident with the afrit, Honorius. I forgot. My mistake."

"Did you say Honorius?" squawked Bartimaeus. "Don't get me started on that crazy old bugger. Totally off his rocker. Not a sane bone in his skeleton. And also, he was – oh, whoops, rough landing."

It was an understatement; both Nathaniel and Kitty were thrown from his back and onto the pavement. There was minimal injury, at least for Nathaniel, as he landed on Kitty. It made for an awkward position.

"Sorry," grunted a blushing Nathaniel as he rushed to his feet and offered Kitty a hand. She rolled her eyes.

"You might want to take back that statement about him being sane."

Bartimaeus made an indignant noise. "I'm not deaf, you know."

"Trust me, I know," Nathaniel retorted, annoyed. They were in front of a small flat, modest and humble with paint scratched off in several patches. "I suppose this is it?"

"Yes. Bottom floor, flat on the left. Check, check."

Nathaniel brushed off his shirt and his collar before approaching the door carefully. A crooked number nine hung from a nail on the door, indicating that he was definitely at the right house.

With one last glance back at the others, he turned forward and knocked on the door of the flat of the magician known as Ffoukes.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **This isn't my favorite chapter yet, but it's a necessary one. If you didn't read Nathaniel's little flashback that was very similar to the bit in Chapter Fifteen, you might want to, as it explains a lot. In fact, if you compare the two, you'll notice some little funny similarities. But this was definitely a needed chapter. It builds towards a lot, and now you know who's on what side. There is also something very important in that flashback about the enemy they must go after, but it's inevitable that they'd go after them already.

**Next Chapter: **In _What's The Story, Morning Glory?_, Bartimaeus and co. confront Ffoukes, but it's not as simple as it seems. The Tower is mysteriously unguarded, although that doesn't mean their task is easy. And what's Morris been up to during all of this?


	17. What's The Story, Morning Glory?

I told you all I was going to update faster, and I did! Under two weeks for this one, and the next chapter is insanely long, too. It's 33 pages in Word, or about 10,600 words... which is the longest chapter I've ever written. It'll probably be the longest chapter in the entire fic, and it's the last chapter before the climax. I hadn't written much until last night when I sat down and wrote 7,000 words without taking a break. Never done that before, but I have no qualms about it.

And I just saw the cover for Book 3, Ptolemy's Gate. It's the English cover, but it's great, and I'm incorporating some of the bits on the front cover into the end of this. It actually helped me tie everything together, because there was one detail I couldn't figure out, but it's all good. They changed the title, but I'm okay with it. I think you'll see more about that at the end of the fic.

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapters.

**Chapter Seventeen  
**What's the Story, Morning Glory?

**_"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough."- Frank Crane_**

Let me clear this up. I did not like Ffoukes, even as magicians go. He wasn't just corrupt, he was weak, pathetic. When I killed the Resistance member on his orders, he almost vomited. He blamed it on the food. I blamed it on weakness.

Yet here I was, voluntarily (okay, not really) standing at his front door with a convict and a traitor to the Empire, ready to force Ffoukes to help us against his will. Not that I expected this to be hard in any way. The opposite, rather. As I said, Ffoukes was a wimp.

So when he opened the door, I was expecting him to faint, or maybe even squeal. No such luck.

He screamed.

Oh, he _screamed_.

It wasn't a manly yell or shout. It was a full-blown shriek that could pierce thin air and shatter glass, such a force that hurt my essence. Luckily, Kitty had the good sense to knock the pansy upside the head, but still, it bloody hurt. Bastard. It's not like we opened his front door and started screaming at him.

Okay, to be fair, one of the most wanted criminals in the country was knocking at his doorstep, but he shouldn't have known who she was. When we had turned the captured Resistance members in, we had not mentioned Kitty at all. Nathaniel thought it would be disadvantageous to his career to mention that one got away, and so the officials never knew she was still alive.

"Hey, Ffoukes, did you –"

Well, that cleared things up.

"Hello, Morris," said Nathaniel dully. "How has your day been?"

Morris's eyes widened – he was not registering what Nathaniel had said at all. "You – you – you're _her_," he muttered stupidly, pointing at Kitty as he backed away. "You're Kitty Jones!"

"That's me." Kitty's tone might have been even duller than Nathaniel's. She wasn't taking joy in the situation, one I found quite hilarious. Stupid humans.

"You hit me on the head!" This was a little odd, actually. I had been expecting something along the lines of, "You're a wanted terrorist who desecrated Gladstone's tomb!" But then again, Morris was different than most people. "That really hurt!"

"Er… what?" Kitty asked, surprised. She had been thinking along the same lines as me.

"Just get away from me!" exclaimed Morris anxiously. "I really don't want to go to the hospital anytime soon, so I'll just walk away and forget that this never happened while you have your way with Ffoukes."

He blinked.

"Hey, you're that convict that broke open Gladstone's tomb," he mused. His eyes widened even more. "Oh, damn."

"Stop worrying, Morris," Nathaniel stated in as soothing a voice as he could manage. "She won't hurt you. She's on our side."

Morris looked at him skeptically. "What? She's wanted! Okay, technically she's supposed to be dead, but if the Empire knew she was alive, she'd be wanted."

"Yes, well…" Nathaniel was trying to figure out how to say it. "We're on her side now."

This was the part where Morris should have screamed. Did he scream?

Of course not. The kid wouldn't know normal if it gave him a lap dance.

"Hot damn!"

Instead, this was his preferred response. Like I said, the kid wouldn't know normal if it – well, you heard what I said. If you want to hear about lap dances again, then too bad. There's a story to tell, you little pervert.

Nathaniel's face was blank. "Er… what?" he said, repeating Kitty's thoughts only seconds beforehand.

"Hot damn!" repeated Morris, oblivious. "I thought you were some tight-arse or something, but here you are, with a convict and a djinni! And a girl convict, too!" He gave Nathaniel an all-too-obvious wink.

"Wait a second," piped up Kitty angrily. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Morris's face fell. It was clear he was still intimidated by the girl. "Nothing, ma'am!"

"_Ma'am?_" I laughed. Kitty shot me an irritated look. As if any human scared me. "Yes, because Kitty here is so ladylike."

If you cannot tell, my voice was dripping with sarcasm. Well, it wasn't actually dripping with sarcasm. It's called "figurative language", or something like that. As much as I would love to discuss this with you, let's just clear up that it wasn't physically dripping. I can never be too sure with these things, having spent so much time with Nathaniel and all.

"That aside," said Morris, attempting to be casual when he looked about to wet himself at the sight of Kitty, "what the hell happened to make you do a switcheroo?"

"Switcheroo?" Nathaniel was really getting into a habit of questioning people's grammar. "Actually, never mind that, I get your point. Rest assured, I have my reasons."

"Although I still don't know them," Kitty mumbled. Nathaniel glanced at her for a second, and something flickered in his eyes that I had never seen before. But he turned away, and I could not identify it.

"I've been thinking," he stated firmly.

Morris nodded. "You've finally seen the light, then?"

"The light?"

"The light at the end of the tunnel. You know," said Morris. "You realized how corrupt and unfair our government is, how commoners have zero to little chance of ever making a decent living, and of how we oppress all who oppose us: the Czechs, the Americans –" he tilted his head towards Kitty "– the common people."

"If you've already had such a revelation, why am I the one going out on a limb here and risking my arse?"

The teenager grinned. "I'm not that selfless, you know. And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not the most skilled magician around. It would have been suicide. I didn't want to live like a commoner. Not that I really thought being a magician was a blast."

"So you'll help us?"

"I guess," replied Morris. "I think that if all three of you are in it, there's got to be a chance to do some good. And I'm getting fed up with being the underling to all of Whitehall. I'm not really that popular. Besides, if I didn't come voluntarily, you'd have forced me to. I'm betting that's why you came to Ffoukes's house in the first place, to get his help?"

"That would be correct."

"Whoa, I'm on a roll," Morris said, attempting a feeble joke. He looked at the limp body of Ffoukes. "Are you going to revive him anytime soon?"

"As soon as you stopped your babbling," Nathaniel stated icily as he kneeled down to inspect the fallen magician more closely. "As I don't have a Resuscitator on hand –"

"A what?"

"A Resuscitator," I said in response to Kitty's question. "It's a long, pipe-like thing that you point into someone's chest and it revives them instantaneously. They're pretty hard to come by, though."

"I forgot mine at my flat," said Nathaniel. His blush was undeniable, to my delight. "I did not have much time for thinking of such trivial little trinkets. But anyway, I'm going to do some patchwork magic. It won't heal this bruise on his head, as a Resuscitator would, but it'll do."

He reached his hand to Ffoukes's temple before shifting his head towards Kitty and showing a small smile. 'That was one hell of a blow."

"Thanks."

Fortunately for me, he turned back to the idiot on the ground and began reviving him. If I'd had to endure any more of that lovesick teenage nonsense, I was going to hurl. And I don't think it's physically possible for djinn to vomit, either.

A few seconds later, Ffoukes shot up, only to nearly pass out again at the sight of Kitty. Luckily, the girl had her wits about her.

"Scream again and you'll get the same result," she warned him. His mouth closed in a hurry.

"Not bad," I commented as I leaned closer to inspect my former master more carefully. That was an exaggeration, really. It was an almost seamless reviving spell. "That spell's pretty complex, isn't it?"

Nathaniel didn't answer, and instead Morris responded in his place. "I generally stay away from magic whenever I can. That way I can't screw it up. But I haven't seen that one in any of my spellbooks."

"I wouldn't know," Kitty said quietly. "It looks hard enough to me."

"It's not that difficult," said Nathaniel with a glance towards her as he straightened up. "But it took me a while to perfect it."

I was dangerously close to being seriously sick at this point, but luckily, the idiot saved me. "Bloody hell!"

"Good evening to you, too, Ffoukes," I stated sarcastically (in case you couldn't tell already). "How have you been doing?"

"Shut up, demon," growled Ffoukes bitterly.

I was about to reprimand him but Nathaniel cut me off. "Watch your words, Ffoukes. Bartimaeus is in my employ, and I don't think he appreciates the term 'demon' very much. And we've already got Morris… I don't suppose your life is of much worth to us anymore."

Ffoukes face paled considerably. I knew Nathaniel was just trying to intimidate him, but for some reason I couldn't help but feel as though there was some sincerity in his words. But most likely I was just getting soft.

"Now, we are holding all of the cards in this situation, so it would not be wise to do anything – er – _rash_. If you make a move to contact the government, we will not hesitate to stop you by whatever means necessary. Bartimaeus would certainly have fun with it."

I noticed Kitty's face hardened at this point; she was staring coldly at Ffoukes, and seemed to be muttering under her breath. Ah, yes: it was Ffoukes who had ordered me to kill her friend. Even I felt a bit guilty about it now that we were allies, and I liked Kitty (comparatively speaking – her competition mostly consisted of idiots like Ffoukes).

"And we have not forgotten what you ordered Bartimaeus to do," Nathaniel said softly, having picked up on Kitty's feelings at the moment. "Something you were never told to do, either. You are in a very bad situation, Ffoukes."

It was easy to tell that my former master was fearing for his life. He nodded slowly as a reply.

"Very good," Nathaniel continued in a more cheerful tone. "Now, we are intending to totally bring down the Empire – well, not totally, but basically we want to make radical changes to their governmental system – and we will need you to help us. It will be dangerous, difficult, a bit reckless, and it is most likely that we will all die. So, what do you say?"

The look on Ffoukes's face was priceless. "You make it sound like I'm going to die anyway."

'Yes, that's right. You're not a slow one." Nathaniel was positively beaming at this point, which I found rather humorous. The kid was learning the ropes. "And you'll probably be the first one we'd sacrifice if such a situation arose. So yes, we are offering you a road to what would probably be impending doom."

'Why am I supposed to agree?"

"Well, I can offer you –" Nathaniel checked his watch "– oh, at the very least a few more hours' worth of life. If you disagree, your punishment will be both painful and fatal. If you are mortally wounded in our little adventure, we'll have the decency to finish you off quickly, I'd think. But most likely, you would not die on our first exploit. When we actually go after whoever it is that has set everything up – Lovelace, the indestructible assassin, the tomb raid, the incident on the _Paix Fausse_ – well, that is when you will most likely die. I would say, given the circumstances, that it is pretty much a certainty."

"You're a complete arse."

"I know."

"Fine," Ffoukes muttered angrily. "I don't seem to have much choice in the matter."

"No, you don't," I said, joining in on the fun. When Ffoukes glared at me, I merely scraped my talons on the ground menacingly and sneered back. He looked ready to faint again.

"Well, now that that's settled," Morris stated dryly, "how exactly are we going to bring down the most powerful empire the world may have ever seen?"

"Believe me, kid, Britain's got nothing on Rome." I checked my talons casually, if only to irritate Ffoukes. "And Rome wasn't really all that great, either. A bunch of arrogant murderers who walked around as if they owned the place – hey, that actually does remind me of Britain."

Nathaniel ignored me. "Well, we start by breaking out dangerous prisoners from the Tower."

"Her lot?" Morris asked.

"Yes, my lot," Kitty said coldly.

"Just checking." He turned back to Nathaniel. "And how, exactly, are we supposed to do that?"

"It shouldn't be that hard," I said. They all looked at me, dumbstruck. "Well, really, while I was out I saw dozens of cars looking for the crazy demon that kidnapped John Mandrake. Reporters from the tabloids were having a field day. And I'm assuming that this means that the Tower is a bit short-handed."

"Probably," mused Nathaniel thoughtfully, stroking his chin. When he saw Kitty smirking despite herself at his action, he quickly stopped. Ew. "Although I wouldn't have ever thought my disappearance would be of much importance to anyone at Whitehall, that does make sense. Why leave anyone to guard ordinary commoners who are locked in their cells? Maybe a few security guards, but everyone knows that they're fakes. This shouldn't be that hard."

"Yes, it shouldn't be that hard," spat Ffoukes irritably. "Forget the fact that the Tower is one of the most secure areas in the entire world, and that escaping it after we've rescued them could be hell as well. We've got a ridiculously tight timeframe."

Kitty glared at him. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Well, besides not trying to bring down the Empire, no."

"That's what I thought. We're going to have to trust John and Bartimaeus."

Nathaniel smiled. "That's the idea, anyway. But that's not to say that Ffoukes is completely useless. He is the only one who can access the security plans, as I can certainly not return to my computer at my flat or log on here,which would be suspicious. So, I trust you will go get them quickly, Ffoukes. We've already discussed your other option."

Ffoukes nodded reluctantly and walked away with a hung head, muttering something that sounded like, "bastard". Heh. He was getting ordered around by Nathaniel. What a loser.

Hey, it's not as if I had a choice or anything. And I wasn't really following orders as much as humoring him. I had him in the palm of my hand!

But you knew that already, right?

Right.

So, where was I? Ah, of course. After several moments of sweet silence on his part, Morris felt the need to remind us that he was still here. That or he had a point… Yeah, like Morris would ever have a point.

"So… what've you guys been up to lately?"

See? Purely a way to get conversation rolling while my dear old master did his part. Of course, Morris could have actually been interested in what we were up to lately. But I doubt that. It's common knowledge that humans don't have feelings, just like it's known that they have ridiculously small brains.

You pervert. You thought I was going to say something other than brains.

Not that your assumption is wrong or anything. But I wouldn't really know. I've just heard it from others.

And no, I don't care how they knew. It's bad enough that I'm on this subject anyway.

Er…

To continue the story, Nathaniel was the one to answer, as Kitty did not seem to be too fond of Morris. Or she really liked him and couldn't work up the nerve to talk to him, or her lips were swollen, or she wasn't paying attention. But whatever the reason was for her silence, Nathaniel took the opportunity with open arms (or is it mouth?).

"Oh, you know. Jumping into rivers, convincing each other to betray their government, hiding out in the middle of a park, sleeping through the day."

"Together?"

Kitty coughed loudly and her face became very red. I preferred Nathaniel's expression, however: he didn't look as if he'd comprehended what Morris had said.

"What?"

"No," said Kitty hastily, "one of us slept while the other kept guard."

"Oh. Again, just checking." Morris winked at me when Kitty wasn't looking, a large grin on his face. "But you know that what we're attempting to do might be impossible."

"I thought that we established that breaking into the Tower _is_ possible," said Nathaniel hurriedly, trying to forget about Morris's comment.

Morris sighed. "Not that, you dolt. Completely reforming the Empire. No matter what you do, people are going to be resistant to change. It's human nature."

"I know. We're just going to have to change human nature."

"And if this doesn't work out, we could always just go to America and try to start over there," suggested Kitty, taking it all in stride.

"Supposing we all live through this," I said wryly.

"Yes." Nathaniel checked his watch. "It's not incredibly likely but every once in a while you have to bet on the long shot."

"It's a bit different when you _are_ the long shot," Morris said.

"Of course," Kitty replied. "That just means we control our own destiny, and aren't idiot gamblers who've had too much to drink."

"What's wrong with drinking?"

Ffoukes had returned with a single sheet of paper in hand.

"Is that the security plan?" Nathaniel asked briskly.

Ffoukes rolled his eyes. "No, I printed out directions to the Tower. Of course it is! Not too detailed, either. I don't even see why they bother at all."

"Well, they have to have some sort of defense," Nathaniel mused as he grabbed the paper from Ffoukes's hand. "Is this the most recent copy?"

"Yes. It was just updated twenty minutes ago."

"Good," breathed Nathaniel airily (even by his standards). He swallowed uneasily. "Now, it will be best to plan here because of the convenience of geography; it's much closer to the Tower. This will be very brief, don't worry."

He coughed. "First, Ffoukes will gain entrance into the building and take care of the guard, with Bartimaeus's assistance if necessary."

"It won't be," I said instantly, glaring at Ffoukes. He nodded.

"I have that foliot you trusted me with, Aevod." He snapped his fingers and that blasted cherub appeared again. "Aevod, we will now be assisting Mr. Mandrake. For now, I wish you to be a thin trail of vapor on the first four planes."

The cherub nodded obediently and became said thin trail of vapor (on the first four planes, at least – it appeared he couldn't go higher than the fifth. Ha.).

"That will do." Nathaniel stroked his chin. "After that, it should be relatively easy until the fifth floor, where it appears that Kitty's old comrades are being held at the moment. And they're all in one cell. How convenient."

"More like unsanitary," Kitty grumbled angrily. "Damn magicians."

Nathaniel nodded and turned to face her swiftly. "You and I – and Bartimaeus, of course, in the guise of a gargoyle – will go ahead of Ffoukes and Morris up to the fifth floor. Those two will try to distract anyone coming behind us, or anyone in our path as we make our getaway. Actually, I think we will go directly from the fifth floor and to Bishop Park, where we have made our little headquarters. We will just send them down to you and hope that they can take care of anyone in their path."

"Are we going to escape out of the front door?" Morris inquired quietly.

"Yes."

"So we're supposed to grab around ten prisoners and just waltz them straight out the front door of the Tower."

"Yes."

"Sounds good to me." He folded his arms and looked at the ground, lost in thought.

"How are we going to get there?" Kitty asked. Nathaniel looked at something behind her and grinned.

Oh, boy.

"Well, Ffoukes, it seems I actually have one more task in mind for you before we set off to go get ourselves killed."

Ffoukes stared at him. "And what would that be?"

His grin widened. "I need your keys."

-

Let's get this straight before we go any further: the Tower of London is not a very handsome building.

In fact, it's pretty damn ugly.

But I don't really think it was meant to be a work of architectural genius in any fashion, except to keep prisoners locked up and to have room for some of the government's seedier exploits. In fact, no one really even knew what the top two floors even looked like: they were supposedly locked most of the time and only used for dangerous business.

The funny part is that the Tower supposedly started out as a museum or luxury project, maybe a hotel. But the government learned of this and bought it right away, and then turned it into this monstrosity. Maybe that's the reason that the world was slowly crumbling apart – the inhabitants were tearing it down.

"We're here," said Nathaniel as he brought the car to a stop. In the front seat was Kitty, while I shared the backseat with Ffoukes and Morris, to my chagrin.

"Really?" I quipped. "I didn't think that this could be the Tower, honestly! Why, it's only a large, dark, dank… tower."

He didn't acknowledge me and instead threw the car door open and stepped out into the cold evening air. Kitty followed, and after Morris and I finally drug Ffoukes from the car (which he seemed very reluctant to leave), we trailed after her.

Morris sighed and pulled his jacket tighter around him as he looked up at the rather impressive, if not terrifying, sight. "Just wondering, how are we going to get back?"

"There will be thirteen of us, including Bartimaeus and discounting Aevod, seeing as he's a vapor stream at the moment," Nathaniel thought out loud.

"Isn't that unlucky?"

"I don't believe in luck. I figure that we can fit around eight in your car, although it will be a tight fit, and then two of us can fly on Bartimaeus, so that takes care of another three. That means there'll be three left. If Aevod can transform into something large, like an enormous hawk, then that should take care of another two. It'll be uncomfortable, but we'll just have to make it work."

"Why do I have the feeling that we're not going to be comfortable for a long time?" Ffoukes muttered.

"Because you're finally using your brain, dear George." I cracked my stone knuckles in a bored fashion. "It's a pity you didn't use it earlier."

"As fun as this is, we've got work to do." I swear, Nathaniel was like an old man, always bringing me down. "Ffoukes, you will go gain entry with your foliot. Bartimaeus, you will follow behind him and make sure he doesn't do anything he might regret."

"Of course." While the prospect of having to spend more time with the git wasn't very endearing, I got to scare him senseless. Well, if he actually looked my way, which I sincerely doubted he would. "After you."

Ffoukes nodded and began to climb the steps up to the front door of the Tower. Before we go any further, I believe it is necessary to dispel any wrong bits of information you may have instilled in yourself about this door. It was huge, but not overly huge. It didn't have a doorbell, of course, and it wasn't a nice, plain door. The insignia of the Empire was engraved on it, and in the top corners, there were miniature stone gargoyles (little runts, they were) that looked menacingly down upon the door step.

It didn't look very inviting, to say the least.

Ffoukes opened it with a queasy expression on his face and the vapor trail trailed after him. Get it? The trail _trailed_ after him? Ah, never mind. Forget I ever said it.

I was able to squeeze in right behind them, luckily enough for Ffoukes. If he was going to be rude enough to close the door on me, I was going to make his life hell. To be frank, it was dangerously close to being hell already.

The inside looked rather similar to the exterior, and I wasn't very pleased with being here again. The encounter with dear old Jessica Whitwell had put me off of the place. But I was here again, and this reception floor didn't look nearly as bad as the one that I had been in during that hole Mournful Orb incident. There was a small desk at which a security guard sat, and in front of him was a long row of metal bars so that unwelcome visitors could not drop by and say hello whenever they pleased. I hid behind a column, although it wasn't really that necessary, as I would've fit in with the whole Gothic theme, and it was far too dark for their own good.

Ffoukes approached the desk, or rather the bars in front of the desk, slowly and cleared his throat. The guard looked up with an expression that clearly read: _get me out of this place_. However, Ffoukes didn't seem to notice, just as the guard didn't notice the small cloud hovering behind him.

"Who are you?" he asked in a distracted voice.

"George Ffoukes." It was hard to tell which of the two was more idiotic.

The guard checked his computer slowly before grabbing something and shoving it through the bars towards Ffoukes. "Sign."

He obliged, and the guard retracted the object and put it into a compartment under his desk as he pushed a button with his other hand. A portion of the metal grille retracted, and Ffoukes stepped through briskly. His counterpart made a move to press the button again, but he spoke up.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the magician warned him.

"Why not?"

Just then, the cloud turned into a cherub and long tentacles sprung out of its hair, hitting the guard upside the head and knocking him out effectively. It looked like my assistance would not be needed.

"I've got some associates who need passage," Ffoukes smirked. He looked at me. "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to tell them that the coast is clear for now? There should be another guard coming by on his rounds."

I shot him an irritated look and flew to the door (not literally). Opening it just a crack, I called out in a raspy voice, "he's done it."

I retreated behind the opening and towards Ffoukes as the door burst open and the three others strode over to us quickly.

"How long to we have until the next guard comes?" Nathaniel checked quickly.

"Dunno. About ten minutes?" Ffoukes offered.

"Good. When he comes, you, Morris, and Aevod will need to take care of him so we have as easy of an escape route as we can. Take care of any others, also, but we will be taking the lift, so make sure that is also clear."

I gave him an inquisitive glance. "The lift? Are you sure?"

"Yes. They're huge, almost as big as a room. At least, the ones reserved for large groups of prisoners are. Only the higher members of the government have access to them."

"Meaning you."

"I am technically still part of the government, so yes."

Morris gave us a thumbs-up. "Got it. Don't worry, we'll get you your clear coast. If worst comes to worst, I'm just going to start biting people."

"Whatever is necessary," Nathaniel said with a grin. It was then that I noticed the gleam in his eye that I had never seen before – he looked alive, for the very first time in the period I had known him. This was a welcome change, although I'm not sure what it says about him that it took such a high crime to get this change.

"We'd better get moving," Kitty stated simply, looking at Nathaniel. "I don't know my way around this place, but…"

He nodded. "Of course. I've been here on enough occasions to last a lifetime, so don't worry. Just follow me. And Bartimaeus, stick close. I'm not sure how useful Kitty's resilience will be in here, especially if the guards resort to their guns. They might have silver bullets, but let's not chance it. Take out anyone you see as quickly as possible."

"Sounds easy."

"It always does," he chuckled as he beckoned for us to follow him into a narrow hallway with windowless walls adorned by plain steel doors. Without warning, he made a quick right turn and stopped in front of a rusty old door. "How do I open this again? Oh, right."

Nathaniel placed his hand on the door and it dissolved instantaneously. Behind it was a large, room-sized lift, much as he had said. There were cages in the corners, and on the sides straps that looked sickly similar to straight jackets. He hadn't been lying when he had said it was used to transport large groups of prisoners.

In that sense, it was perfect for our cause. Not that we would be tying them up or anything.

"And how are we supposed to get this thing going?" Kitty wondered aloud.

Nathaniel looked at her with an apologetic frown. "Unfortunately, it only recognizes me. Bartimaeus isn't a registered guard djinni, and you certainly aren't supposed to be running this thing, so…" He gestured to the straps.

"You've got to be kidding."

"Afraid not. Here, I'll help you, as they require a bit of magic to even loosen."

Kitty put her back against the wall hesitantly and he placed himself only inches in front of her as she crossed her arms over her chest. Tapping the straps with his finger, they slowly coiled into place, leaving Kitty very immobile and very much strapped in.

Satisfied, he turned around and looked at me doubtfully.

"Oh, don't worry," I said quickly, "I definitely won't require any help."

And to prove my point, I placed myself against the wall opposite Kitty, crossed my arms as she had, and tapped the straps with my elbow. They slithered into place, although they had to expand a bit just to fit my frame. They felt a bit weak, though, and I reckoned I could break out of them if I really wanted to.

"Now that we're settled in, there's only one way to go. Up!"

The lift, seeming to have heard him, began a slow crawl upwards that left me wondering if it was really moving at all. Kitty seemed to be thinking along these lines.

"Why is it going so slow?"

"Some obscure security measures," replied Nathaniel smartly. "They figure that if it goes too fast with too much weight, then it might break at one point, even with all of the magical defenses cast upon it. With our load, however, it could probably go a lot faster, but the government wasn't exactly thinking of convenience when they built this."

"Just like they weren't thinking of comfort," I snapped irritably.

"Prisoners are not usually their highest priority." Nathaniel looked from me to Kitty and smiled a smile I'd never seen from him – what, he goes to get himself killed and finally changes? What's up with that? "Although they've made mistakes with their priorities before."

"Well, of course they have, they're bloody magicians," I said wryly. Kitty laughed while Nathaniel looked somewhere between a chuckle and a frown, and instead just looked sick.

Kitty looked upwards, not an easy task, I can tell you, and tutted disapprovingly. "What, no lift music?"

"That can be fixed," Nathaniel responded, waving his hand. A slow, sad funeral overture filled the room, vibrating off the walls sinisterly. "I think that fits."

"Oh, yes, it's quite wonderful. Really, if only I had a drink to go along with it." She grinned widely at him.

"Actually, that's a wonderful idea!" I said hopefully. "Let's stop this madness and all go out for a cuppa!"

Of course, I don't drink anything, so this was just some ambitious banter. Nathaniel wouldn't have it.

"Madness? You're the one going barmy!" he retorted. "You don't even eat or drink!"

"Alright, alright," I admitted shamelessly. "I'm trying to skive off. But we do have a few more glorious moments of peace to reconsider this!"

Apparently, we actually didn't. At that moment the lift came to a screeching halt and a door-shaped hole appeared in the wall to my left. Nathaniel shook his head as he tapped Kitty's straps and released her.

"No, we're definitely going through with this."

"I know." I attempted to free myself, but I couldn't. And I didn't really want to break the straps, as that might've upset Nathaniel a bit. Well, a lot. "Could you get me out of these? I can't –"

"You can't get out, I know." He approached me and tapped the straps as he had with Kitty and they slackened considerably, freeing me. "They would be useless if a prisoner could release themselves."

"Wow, really?"

"Yes."

"So they're just through there?" Kitty asked as she rubbed her wrists. "They're all right through there?"

"Just through a few hallways," Nathaniel confirmed. Her face lightened considerably. "We'll see them soon."

She looked through the hole airily, and only snapped out of it when Nathaniel grabbed her shoulder worriedly. "Come on, we don't have long."

Kitty gave him a reassuring look, as if saying, "I'm ready." He nodded and gestured for us to again follow him as he walked through the hole and into another hallway not unlike the one we had gone through on the first floor.

But he stopped abruptly right at the end of it, holding up a hand for us to stop. We obliged, and faint footsteps could be heard coming our way.

"Bartimaeus," he whispered, "get ready."

A few long, dragged out moments later a guard appeared in front of us, whistling happily. He stopped in his tracks when he saw us, saying stupidly, "hello, how are you doing? I'm sorry, we don't have any guests scheduled – oh."

I hit him hard on the noggin, although not so hard as to kill him. The other two might've puked if I had, I'm afraid. Nathaniel crouched down near him and searched his pockets hastily, until finally he found a large key.

"Here we are. I believe this is the master key, also."

I looked at him with a wide smile. "Hey, you know, we could just set everyone free, to really take the mickey out of Devereaux and his cronies."

"No. Most of the people here are murderers."

"Exactly, they can go around killing the people who locked them up," I said as he led us through another winding corridor.

"I don't think so." The hallway ended and we found ourselves in a large room with cells all around us. "Here we are. Now, where are they?"

Finding them seems like an easy task, but I assure you, it is not. The number of cells in the room… well, it was ridiculous. But I did see a window as I was looking around, although it was barred up. Hold on, was that the one Duvall had jumped out of? I thought Nathaniel had said that he was five stories up…

"There they are!" exclaimed Kitty, running in a random direction very excitedly. Nathaniel and I shared a mutual look before jogging after her, only to discover that she was very right. In fact, they were all very awake, very angry, and very surprised.

"Hello, how has your day been?" said a young man (who I had taken care of quite deftly on the boat, thank you very much) with unhidden annoyance. "Mine hasn't been so great."

"Sod off, Elliot," said a girl behind him (another one I knocked out, actually). "At least she got here."

However, an older man – I think his name was Glen or Gary or something of the sort – gave Nathaniel and me a weary look. "That's Mandrake and his demon. What have you done, Kitty?"

"It's not really what she's done, it's what I've done," Nathaniel replied coolly. I leered over his shoulder at the oldie and chuckled darkly. If he was going to call me a demon, then I was going to be a demon, damn it!

He fit the key into the lock and twisted it suddenly. A blue streak of electricity surrounded the cell for a split second before the door burst open. They hurried out in a very disorganized manner, but I can't say I blamed them. I didn't like my stay in the Tower much, either.

"Follow the stairs all the way down," Nathaniel instructed them seriously. "If you come across anyone, take care of them. The stairs aren't as safe, but you can't operate the lift without us. Find the two magicians and the cherub called Aevod and instruct them to go to Bishop Park. They know what to do from there."

"Where are you going?" asked Elliot suspiciously.

Nathaniel smiled. "We're going ahead of you. We wouldn't want anybody ambushing all of us, would we?"

Glen/Gary looked at Kitty with an odd expression on his face. The young man behind him, Jack Johnson (that twerp in the museum), seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Kitty?"

She nodded. "Do what he says."

"Okay. Come on, we'd better get moving." The large group began making its way towards the stairwell, but Jack hung back.

"Are you alright?" He was looking directly at Nathaniel, who was gazing at him unblinkingly.

"I'm fine. Just go."

He obliged and followed the rest of the group into the stairwell and out of sight. Nathaniel, a frown still on his face, turned to me. "Bartimaeus?"

"Yes?"

He gestured his head towards the window and the frown disappeared, to be replaced by a mischievous smile. "That window looks pretty weak, don't you think?"

"Yes, it does."

"Well, then, what are you waiting for?"

"I like the way you think," I replied happily. Facing the wall, I gathered all of my energy and began running straight at it.

Headfirst, of course.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **Finally, a chapter from Bartimaeus's POV! It's a decent chapter, I think, and Morris reappears. You see a little more into the pysche of Morris in this one, and you get a much closer view in the next chapter although Morris doesn't play as much of a part in it. Nathaniel is beginning to change, as you probably noticed - in fact, all of the characters are starting to change. But more about that next chapter, where there is character introspection galore, clues, and a good deal of foreshadowing.

**Next Chapter: **In _Just Before We Say Goodbye_, the three must return to Bishop Park, although they are distracted by an unexpected event. An old enemy reappears, and Kitty begins to learn more about Nathaniel and Bartimaeus. Nathaniel will discover, at a price, that revenge is a dish best served cold.


	18. Just Before We Say Goodbye

The wait for this chapter was much too long, but with school starting and all, the next chapter was difficult to write. This is the longest chapter in the fic as of yet, though, so I hope that makes up for the wait. There are only four more chapters after this, and I hope you enjoy them.

Thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers. You guys have no idea how much it helps.

Also, the alternate title for this chapter is "The Insanely Long Chapter That Leads Up To The Climax". Really. I could have called it that.

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapters.

**Chapter Eighteen  
**Just Before We Say Goodbye

"_I have spoke with the tongue of angels,  
I have held the hand of a devil.  
It was warm in the night;  
I was cold as a stone.  
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.  
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for."  
__**-U2's **"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For"_

Kitty had caught on before Bartimaeus had begun running headfirst at a stone wall, which she thought was pretty stupid.

Apparently, though, his head was a lot harder than the wall could ever dream of being. Surprise, surprise.

A huge crack appeared where he had hit, running right through the small window. He stepped back and began punching it repeatedly, until finally chunks began to fall onto the floor. After several minutes of this, he broke through, and a few kicks gave them a fairly large hole through which to escape from.

Bartimaeus smirked at the two. "That's quality work, you have to admit."

What John had to say to this she would never know, for a yell came from behind them.

"I thought I heard something up here!" A guard was standing about ten meters behind them, holding a gun with trembling hands. "Put your hands up!"

She glanced at John and he nodded, and the two obliged. "Okay, just settle down," John said slowly. "Don't do anything stupid."

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" the guard yelled furiously. His eyes were wide, his breathing shaky: he was panicking.

"Calm yourself," John tried again. "I'm a senior member of the government, everything's alright. We haven't _detonated_ –" he put particular emphasis on this word and she heard Bartimaeus move behind them "– a bomb or anything like that."

"You're making a hole in the wall of the Tower!"

"Oh, yes, that. Well, you see, it's a very long and interesting story and I'd love to tell it to you sometime, but I'm afraid we have to go now. By the way, you might want to duck."

There was a large explosion behind the guard, throwing him face-first onto the ground, but John had already grabbed her arm and was running the other way, towards the hole. Instead of a gargoyle, there was now the same large eagle from hours before, positioned to take off through the hole.

"Do hurry," Bartimaeus said. "We haven't got much time to spare. That won't keep him out for long."

John stepped back so she could mount the eagle, and as soon as she was situated, hopped on right after her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Go!"

Bartimaeus pushed out of the hole and began a sharp descent towards the streets of London as gunshots rung over their heads. The djinni perked his head upwards, intrigued.

"They are using silver bullets," he mused. "No wonder the bugger didn't faint at the sight of me. Of course, he may not have been able to see me over your big heads."

"What was that?" Kitty asked breathlessly as they began to gain altitude.

"A Detonation," the djinni answered. "You might've seen a Detonation stick around before, I believe they've gotten better since the last time I encountered one –"

For some reason, he laughed at this thought, as though it was an old joke of his.

"I'm just glad you caught on." John leaned closer to her. "I didn't want to be so obvious, but I didn't know what you'd do otherwise, and that chap didn't look that bright, either."

Bartimaeus somehow managed to nod. "Yeah, I was thinking about how to handle the situation at that very moment. You'd think that with spending so much time with magicians and whatnot, he would've known what we were going on about."

"Maybe you're giving him too much credit. He _is_ a security guard, after all."

"Oh… yes, that does explain a lot."

"Look out for that bird," Kitty pointed out quickly. Bartimaeus swerved to the right and a collision with the pigeon that had been in their path was avoided.

"Whoops. Thanks."

"No problem."

The wind tore at their faces, although Bartimaeus did not seem to mind it very much, and Kitty's skin stung horribly, like it was burning, but she did not complain. John was enduring it too, and although she was growing to respect him more and more as time went on, by no stretch of the imagination did she consider him… physically apt.

Bartimaeus was thinking along the same lines. "Alright up there, Johnny? I don't fancy you tough enough to face this again and not whine about it, but then again, I never thought I'd call you Johnny, either."

"And I blame Morris for that," John said, slightly irritated. "He must've called me it a dozen times before the fried feces incident when I was trying to plan out everything. I actually remember the first time he called me Johnny: it was when he applied to be a CSI."

"Interesting," Bartimaeus yawned. His wings flapped lazily but still propelled them to surprising speeds, to Kitty's grim satisfaction – while she was glad they were moving fast, her face really hurt. "Just wondering, what's the plan now? We've gotten Kitty's friends out of the Tower, but I hardly think that will make the magician government come crashing down around us."

"I'm not completely sure," John snapped. "I think first we must take care of whoever was behind Lovelace and Duvall –"

"What do you mean, I thought Duvall was behind Lovelace?"

"No, that can't be, because I believe this person also stole that Archway from the museum. That's assuming that your group didn't steal it?" He gave Kitty a curious look.

"I don't really have much of a clue what you're talking about," she said honestly.

"As I thought. I don't even know what it is and I'm a high-ranking member of the government with access to all sorts of books and such about magical artifacts, and I have no idea what it is. The idea that your group would is, no offense, laughable."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the moral support."

"That's what I'm here for." He shot her something between a smirk and a grin. "This Archway, though… I'm almost positive it's some sort of weapon. The Amulet of Samarkand was very close to a weapon, and Gladstone's Staff is… whoever is after these things wants to do something big, really big."

"Why not let them?" Bartimaeus suggested. "They may just bring down the government for us."

"Well, you see, if they take over as I believe they are planning to do – after all, that was Lovelace's aim and Duvall's, also – I have this nagging feeling that they _might not_ be so pleasant. Call me pessimistic, but Lovelace's spirit and Duvall's golems and werewolves have kind of put me off."

"Oh. Right."

"What I want to know is who set you up to the incident in Gladstone's tomb."

Kitty whipped around suddenly, looking at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Someone had to have put you up to it. You would need a magician's help to get past Gladstone's defenses."

"Well, besides that Pestilence, we didn't quite get past Gladstone's defenses."

"Yes, but someone had to have let you in."

"There was a benefactor," she said blankly without much feeling – she had long ago hardened herself against him and Hopkins. "He told us how to get past the Pestilence, and how to get into the tomb, although Hopkins helped."

"Hopkins?" John said quizzically.

"He was another commoner helping us out, kind of pointing us in the 'right' –" she spat out this word with anger "– direction and helping decipher some things."

"Hopkins!" he exclaimed. "Now I remember! There was a scholar named Hopkins that Duvall had said was the whole brains of his operation, that had shown him the golem's eye and that mercenary!"

"That mercenary?"

"There is a mercenary I've had the misfortune to encounter who seems to have your resilience, except…"

"More resilient?" Bartimaeus offered.

Kitty nodded. "This just proves it. Hopkins wasn't on our side at all."

"And I doubt he was on Duvall's side," mused Bartimaeus. "After all, Duvall was one of those captured in the pentacle during that whole Lovelace fiasco, meaning that he wasn't in on that, as John and I figured out. I'd be willing to bet money that Hopkins was behind that, too, seeing as the mercenary was in Lovelace's employ, and said that he'd been serving a higher master at the time, too."

"That's all fine and dandy, but tell me more about this benefactor." John seemed particularly ruffled about this.

"Well, he said he wasn't much of a magician anymore, but dabbled in the art from time to time –"

"I'm sure," Bartimaeus scoffed.

"He said he wanted to bring down the current government, and he wanted to help us."

Behind her, John coughed. "And what did he want in return?"

"Some items… Gladstone's Staff and a cloak, I think."

"A cloak?"

"A cloak."

"I know I've heard talk of this cloak somewhere…" He sighed. "It doesn't really matter. As you didn't have the cloak, that means that Honorius did, and the possessions he was carrying must have gotten destroyed by the golem."

"No, Honorius just shattered into a million pieces," Bartimaeus said. "I don't think anything happened to the possessions."

"But obviously Hopkins or this magician did not have much interest in the cloak as they did not pursue it as they pursued the Staff. Off of that subject… where did you meet this magician? There aren't too many places that it would seem appropriate to make such a deal."

"I met him alone in an old building… a theater, I think."

"A theater?" She glanced at John, who looked particularly troubled by this, and nodded.

"That's right. Is there something wrong about this?"

He shook his head. "Hm… no, it's probably just a coincidence."

"Okay, be mysterious and vague," Bartimaeus growled angrily.

However, at that moment, there was an explosion below them, and it was all Kitty could do not to fall off of the djinni, although John was thrown so that Kitty had to help him back up. After much trying, he remounted Bartimaeus, who was now beginning to descend again to investigate.

"Don't go closer to it!" huffed John breathlessly. "We don't want to be anywhere near that! What if it explodes again?"

"Well, I don't think there's much to explode, is there?"

Bartimaeus was correct. Something that had once been a building now lay below them, just a pile of rubble. And there, in the middle of it all…

"Bones," he remarked. "Pleasant. So, we just witnessed what looks to be a murder. This just gets better and better."

Something caught the corner of Kitty's eyes: was that a person wrapped in black, limping away?

"Look –"

"No time for that." Police cars were already coming to the scene, and an officer was speaking into a megaphone.

"Come to the ground and put your hands on your head!"

"Well, my dear children, it looks like we will have to run again." Bartimaeus's wings began to flap faster. "Luckily, the police force of your fair city is not at all competent, even those werewolves. Hold on tight, now."

They began to fly away, gaining speed as they went, when gun shots rung out behind them. Bartimaeus cried out angrily as a bullet entered his side, and cursed terribly.

"_Silver!"_ He began to fly slower, obviously pained by the bullet lodged within him. "Bloody… oh, that's it!"

He turned around sharply, much to John's protests, avoiding shots as he went, and went into a tremendous nosedive towards the police cars.

"Hello, my pretties," he snarled furiously. "How are you doing today?"

He opened his beak, and a thick beam of blue light emerged from his mouth, cutting right through the police cars and into the street. The police screamed and hit the cement just before the cars exploded. Bartimaeus cackled and turned around once more.

"That's what I thought!" he shouted back over his shoulder as they began once again to fly to the park. "Not very nice, is it?"

John swore loudly and uncharacteristically as the police began to regroup behind them. "We're going to be late."

"Like it matters. What's the chance of an ambush?"

"What's the chance of a building exploding beneath us?"

"What's the chance of both happening within minutes of each other?"

John sighed. "Forget it."

The rest of the flight passed mostly in silence – that is, until the three began to actually come up on the park.

"What the hell?" muttered John as they began to approach Bishop Park.

Kitty did not know what it was, but it was large and dome-like, and barely rose over the tips of some of the innermost trees. She supposed that if she had not been in the air then she would not have seen it at all, and although it didn't really worry her, as she had no idea what it was supposed to be, it seemingly did worry John very much.

"There's Ffoukes's car," he said hurriedly, pointing to the edge of the park. He swore again. "Well, Bartimaeus, it appears that you may have to soon be eating your words."

The djinni was not paying much attention to him. "How the hell did they get here so fast?"

"Well, we spent the better part of fifteen minutes attacking worthless police officers, so really it's anyone's guess."

"Shut up, you. Besides, that could just have been created by Ffoukes or Morris."

"Somehow, I doubt it. Land."

Bartimaeus followed the order, choosing a nice spot at the edge of the manmade forest, and she and John dismounted him quickly.

"Change into something more suitable," snapped John hurriedly as he entered the forest, his breathing rapid.

"This'll do, I hope." There was a noise behind Kitty, and in the place of an eagle there was now a great red lion, with a wild mane and a snake-like tail. "Impressive, no?"

"If we're too late…" John trailed off.

His words hung thick in the air, perhaps thicker than the twigs and branches in front of them.

Voices began to come into earshot up ahead of them as they plowed on, and as they progressed further and further through the dense forest, they became clearer and clearer.

"…Nice place you have here," someone was saying, a woman. She spoke slowly and smoothly, and yet her voice was subtly seductive.

John sped up. _"No!"_

"Why don't you –"

The magician named Morris cut Elliot off. "Listen, I know we've had our differences in the past –"

"You've asked me out no less than twenty-two times, you twit."

"Yes, well that should be viewed as a compliment! Now, George here, that's a different scenario. I wouldn't blame you in the slightest –"

"Shut up, Mo," Katherine's voice rung out. "Now's not the time."

"I think I've earned the right to speak! After all, I betrayed my own government –"

"Something that _will not_ be ignored," the female voice said smugly. "Settle down, children, I think we have visitors."

"Who're you calling a –" John stepped out through the underbrush and into a smaller clearing than the one they had occupied earlier in the day and held up a hand to silence Elliot.

Stopping at the edge of the dome, his lips pursed. "Hello, Ms. Farrar."

"Hello, Mandrake," replied the woman coolly. "Come on in, I don't think it will kill you." She gestured to the dome.

"I doubt that."

"Well, then, how would you like a proposal? You step forward into this little ball of mine, and I don't kill all of your friends. Ethel has been getting dreadfully bored lately, after all." The chick on her shoulder made a growling sound.

"Let them all walk out and I'll come in."

Farrar waved a reprimanding finger. "Now, now, Mandrake, do you think I'm that dimwitted?"

"No, I just think I'm marginally cleverer."

"We'll see about that," she breathed. Jack looked at Kitty in desperation, but she could only shrug helplessly. "How about this: I'll let half of them out before you step in, and half when you do. That way we're both giving a little."

"Fine."

Farrar pointed to several of the people on her left, none of them being Morris or Ffoukes, and said sharply, "go."

They did, and Kitty felt herself relax slightly, but only for a minute: there were still a few members of the Resistance in the bubble, Jack among them.

"Just you," the woman warned. "Not the girl or your demon."

"Damn," Bartimaeus mumbled.

John nodded and took a step forward. Kitty made a start, as if to pull him back, but he had already stepped through.

"Let them go."

"As you wish." Farrar nodded to the rest of the group and they filed out quickly. She then turned to John and gave him a sickly smile before saying something Kitty did not understand, some command in another language. "Now, you know what I have done, I presume?"

"Of course," he stated breezily, as if he was describing the weather. "This is a Coming-and-Going Dome. You released the barrier when you let them out and me in, and as soon as I was left alone in here with you, you closed the Dome once more."

"You always have been a quick learner, Mandrake."

John nodded. "At least you acknowledge that. Now, before you kill me as you so surely will, would you at least let my allies escape?"

"Oh, of course. I have no interest in them at the current moment."

"Good." John looked at the group that had just been released. "Go… all of you."

Bartimaeus began to move away from the Dome, but Kitty grabbed his mane.

"Ow!"

"Hold on, I want to see this."

"Why?"

"Maybe we can help him."

"Not really," said the lion carelessly. "He'll be killed, and I'll be freed. He's done better lately, but I'm not going to stick around and fight Farrar with you. And as strong as I am, after so much recently, I haven't a chance against that thing. I'm not even fibbing, either."

"Just… wait. It won't kill you."

"I guess it won't do any harm." He laid out his front paws in front of him and lied down lazily on the grass, his eyes focused on the Dome with mild interest.

John cleared his throat and scuffed the grass with his trainer. "Now that that's done, I believe we can proceed. As you were saying?"

"First off, I'm pretty surprised that you let them just walk off like that. Since when have you been selfless?"

"I'm not at all selfless," John replied in a matter-of-fact voice. "Their lives are just more important than mine at the moment."

"Don't you worry, I'll be going after them once I'm done with you." Farrar paused. "Do you know why I have been stalling so long, Mandrake?"

"I have my suspicions."

"Suspicions?" laughed the woman. "Like what?"

He gazed at her casually. "Oh, you probably want to gloat a bit, let me know that you are, in fact, better than I am."

"Is that it?" Farrar was incredulous.

"No. As I said, I have my suspicions. Surely you would not have so willingly taken on an entire group with resilience so cockily without a reason. After all, it might've ended in your death if I had wished it to do so."

"Really?"

"Really. I could have told them to attack you, and you would have been overpowered, your only defense being the self-destruction of the Dome. But as I said, their lives are more valuable than mine, and that would not have been very convenient for my purposes."

"_Your purposes? _Oh, you're a riot, Mandrake. But you're not as nearly as intelligent as you think."

"And what is your proof of this?" John asked.

"It was very simple to realize what was going on," replied Farrar maliciously. "I was watching the security cameras in the Tower from a building nearby this very park. I saw you help that group escape, and then, I watched as you evaded capture and flew away. I also watched as a group flew away on a hawk, and how some used a car, a car that belonged to the magician Ffoukes."

"Ah, I think I see the flaw in our little escapade already."

Farrar nodded. "Yes, I would not at all be shocked if you do. To find them, I merely used the cameras on the city's traffic lights; they were speeding fantastically, to tell the truth, but it didn't matter. My location helped me greatly… after all, I was already here, in a sense!"

"As I thought. Please, continue." His voice was even and stable, much as Kitty's had been that night years ago when she had first encountered him in her parents' house. She felt a great respect for him at this point: it was not easy to be so calm.

"And so I followed them here and ambushed them. To tell the truth, I had been eagerly awaiting the perfect moment to confront you, Mandrake. A short while ago, I learned of some very useful information."

"Oh really?" John did not seem surprised by this, either, although the look on his face was now decidedly grimmer, and more calculating. His eyes darted around the area thoughtfully, as if to look for a weakness in the Dome.

"Yes. Do you know what this could possibly be?"

"I can think of a million possibilities."

"Oh, but you could surely narrow it down."

John stared at her stonily. "Yes, I very well could."

"So, Mandrake," she said, spitting out his name happily, "what do you think this could be? This key to your downfall, this weapon against you?"

"I think you would prefer to tell me, actually," he said.

"Yes, I would," agreed Farrar. She looked him over carefully, as if weighing his price. "Do you recall a secretary by the name of Jenkins?"

"He used to work in Internal Affairs, until I had him moved out about a year ago."

"Why?"

"It was at his request. I was all too happy to move him into Security."

"You see, that's it!" she exclaimed. "He was not very fond of you at all, and imagine his surprise when he walked past a dumpster near his favorite fish and chips restaurant and overheard a conversation between you, your djinni, and that Morris fellow?"

Bartimaeus paled, and looked away guiltily, although Kitty did not know why.

"I imagine it _was_ some surprise."

"Yes, but he got over his shock quite quickly, I will assure you. For he heard something that was spectacular – or terrible, I suppose, if you look at it from a different point of view."

"I don't think it's all that terrible. Maybe a bit unfortunate."

"Well, we'll find out soon enough. Then you know what he heard, don't you… _Nathaniel?_"

Kitty stared at her stupidly – Nathaniel? What?

Oh.

Right. John was Nathaniel. That was his true name. It seemed too… normal, too good-natured for the person she had always considered an enemy until so recently. It rolled nicely off the tongue, and Kitty rather liked the sound of it, which was peculiar, but she supposed it was just a vast improvement over John Mandrake, which was not at all a wonderful name.

"Well, as I said, it isn't all that bad," said John – Nathaniel – in a bittersweet voice. "I could have been named Wilford or something dull like that."

"Yes, you could've, and it is a shame: I rather like the name." The chick on her shoulder bounced anxiously. "But you will be dead soon enough, so it doesn't matter."

Nathaniel chuckled. "Do you honestly think I won't go without a fight?"

"Are you stupid, boy?" she snapped. "You can conjure a defense, maybe a Shield or a Blocker, but even without the power of your name, Ethel would overpower you. With your name… it just makes things easier."

"That is where we part ways," Nathaniel stated as he crouched slightly and put his hands in front of him. "Your greatest weakness has always been a lack of creativity."

"You think you can escape this? Be my guest to try, although you will undoubtedly fail. Now, Nathaniel, like all things, this must come to an end. Ethel!" The chick hopped off of her shoulder and onto the ground, giving Nathaniel a menacing look. "Finish him."

The chick gave s nod, and raising a tiny wing, it growled something, followed by one unmistakable word: _"Nathaniel!"_

A gigantic blast of blue fire swirled towards him, but he had already flicked his wrist at the fire and said a few words in another language, and then something that Kitty couldn't quite make out but sounded English…

"No," breathed Bartimaeus as the fire flew at him and collided with a wall of energy that had surrounded him. "He can't have tried that. That couldn't have possibly worked."

Time seemed to stand still as the flames hit the Shield; finally, there was a great noise like a car backfiring and the whole Dome filled with a blinding light that did not escape it until finally the magical barrier shattered to pieces. Flames were still swirling around the area, and a thick smoke obscured it from view, but the ground that Kitty could see was dark and nearly torn to shreds. Pieces of earth were scattered all about, and as the smoke cleared, she felt her breath catch in her chest.

First, Farrar and her servant became visible as the smoke and flames subsided. Farrar looked rather irritated, and her clothes were covered in ashes. For some reason, Kitty could not help but feel that this had not worked out as she had wanted it to.

As the smoke continued to subside, Kitty realized that the ashes on Farrar's clothes could very well be the ashes of Nathaniel.

She felt ready to vomit.

He couldn't be dead… he couldn't have taken all of that so calmly and just died… what were they to do without him? She did not know what to do…

"Hm," commented Bartimaeus, bemused. "My ties to this world aren't loosening. That's odd. Unless… that _would_ explain it."

Kitty turned her head to see where he was looking, and automatically she was filled with a violent sort of euphoria.

Kneeling on the ground, battered and dirty and bloody but very much alive, was Nathaniel.

"I guess his plan worked," Bartimaeus said quietly.

"What in Gladstone's name?" spat Farrar furiously. "How the hell are you not dead?"

Nathaniel laughed, although it was a very weak and tired laugh. "As I said, Farrar –" he coughed, and blood splattered on the ground in front of him "– I am marginally cleverer than you."

"I wouldn't be condescending," Farrar said. "You're the one that looks ready to drop dead."

"But I haven't yet, obviously."

"Don't smirk, boy, it's not a becoming look."

"Funny, I thought it was. You do it all the time, after all."

She glared at him before clearing her throat to reset the mood. "Very well. On my employer's whims, I had orders to follow in the case that you did survive."

"I'm guessing that this employer isn't the Empire," said Nathaniel shortly.

"Of course he isn't the Empire, you prat." She wiped some of the soot off of her skirt and continued. "He had other business to take care of today, and felt that I could sufficiently take care of you. Nevertheless, he had a suspicion that you might yet live, as he has tried to kill you quite a few times already, but you have an annoying habit of surviving when you oughtn't. And so I have a proposal."

"A proposal?"

"Yes, a proposal," reiterated the female magician briskly. She was not deterred much by Nathaniel's survival, although she was bitter. "You are familiar with the Tower, I believe – after all, you did just help a large group of prisoners escape from it. Well, in two weeks' time exactly, at this time today, you will arrive at the Tower and commence to the top floor."

"The top floor? The top two floors are off-limits."

"My employer is not stupid, Nathaniel. Don't worry, either, the path will be clear, he will see to that. He has some influence, you see."

"And why does he want us to do this?"

"He feels that you have now deserved the right to live long enough to be enlightened," she said vaguely. "You will die regardless, but you shall learn of… well, certain things."

Nathaniel regarded her cautiously before giving a stiff nod. "Fair enough. Two weeks from now at sunset."

"Yes. Two week from now. Sunset on Saturday."

"Got it. Is that all?"'

"Yes." She smirked. "Don't worry, you won't see me again. This will be the last time we meet."

"We shall see," Nathaniel stated simply. "Goodbye then, Ms. Farrar, until we meet again."

She shook her head. "Don't count on it, boy."

Farrar snapped her fingers and there was a puff of smoke, and when it had finally disappeared, so had she. Nathaniel still stared at the spot where she had stood, as if he were considering something grave and important – the proposal, perhaps?

Bartimaeus sighed. "Good riddance. She was getting to be a pain in the arse, you know. Any more of her stupid chit-chat and I was going to go crazy."

"Why didn't you catch her?" Kitty quizzed him quietly.

"Like I said, I'm weak. That chick may not have looked like much, and on most days I could take it one-on-one, but not now. I need to recover. Just as I suppose dear old Nat here does." He jerked his head towards his master.

"Alright then, we'd better get back to the others." Bartimaeus nodded his agreement and got up on all fours as Kitty treaded towards the magician carefully.

"Er… Nathaniel?" The words felt odd coming out of her mouth, but he looked up regardless. "I think we should get back. Do you need any help?"

He glanced at the blood on his clothes and chuckled. "Yeah, I think I do." She grabbed him by the waist and slowly helped him to his feet. "Thank you. My left leg seems to have taken the brunt of it – I think it was the leg I placed forward when I conjured the Shield – and if you could help me out with that, well – Bartimaeus could clear a path, I mean, and –"

"That's fine, just put your arm around me," she instructed. Realizing what she said, she quickly recovered. "You know, to stabilize yourself. I'll help you out."

He swung his arm over her shoulder shakily and lifted the injured leg tenderly. "I don't think it's broken, luckily, just a little banged up. I'll be better in no time. So, off we go, I suppose."

They began the slow walk towards their old camping ground, and the lion was waiting in front of the thicket of trees. "I'll clear a path, I guess."

Kitty nodded at him gratefully, and he turned and began crushing the plant life in front of them easily. She and Nathaniel followed his path, stopping once to pick up a thick stick with knobby bumps from weathering.

"I think I'll be needing this," remarked Nathaniel dryly, taking it in his other arm. "I don't trust it to get me through all this uneven land, though."

"Don't worry about it," Kitty said firmly. "I'll help you. You deserve it."

Their eyes met briefly, and she shared a grin with him.

"I'm not entirely sure about that, but I don't think I'll deny it."

She laughed as she helped him over a log and they entered the old clearing once more. He nodded to her and removed his arm, switching the stick into his left hand and using it to hobble towards a sleeping bag they had left there earlier.

"You're alive!" exclaimed Thomas, shocked.

"Yes, don't look so disappointed." Kitty smiled as Nathaniel began to lower himself onto the sleeping bag.

"Wow, didn't think that'd happen," Morris commented. "Good job, Nat. Don't want to ask how you got out of that one."

"Who's Nat?" said Glen quickly.

Nathaniel shot Morris a knowing look, and she could only assume he knew Nathaniel's true name. "Coincidentally, that is related to the whole ordeal. I'll tell it to you after I rest… I think we all need a little sleep."

"I can't sleep," said Joel simply. "I don't have anything to sleep on, and the bugs are murder. Plus, there's not a restroom in site. "

"Ask Morris, he's a magician. There is a bathhouse at the edge of this forest, and that should do nicely. Now, I will have to respectfully bid you all a good night."

He threw the covers of the sleeping bag over his head quickly, as if to dodge more questions, and the barrage stopped. Instead, Katherine, who was to Kitty's left, nudged her in the ribs.

"What happened?"

"He escaped."

"No, _really?"_ Katherine said sarcastically. "What happened, Kitty?"

"I don't really feel comfortable telling everything about it. You'll have to ask him tomorrow."

Katherine shot her a questioning look. "Is it something personal?"

"Yeah, I guess it's pretty personal."

"Oh." She sighed. "Well, it's been hell back here, if you must know. Everyone's been squabbling about whether to stay or leave, and everyone hates Ffoukes. Jack doesn't like Morris much, so naturally Glen doesn't either."

"Why?"

"Probably because he's a magician," she answered skeptically. "Morris is a nice enough guy, although he can be a bit stupid sometimes."

Kitty scoffed. "How would you know?"

"I used to be good friends with Morris. Remember Mo from the Tunnel of Love?"

"_That was Mo?"_

"Yeah. He ran away from his master when I was ten – and he was twelve, of course – because magic scared him to death. About a year after the Tunnel of Love, the government came to him and told him to either go to school and get a specialized job or to give up the practice of magic."

"He chose the government over you and his friends."

"Yes, basically. He's an alright guy, but I don't think he was too fond of the life of a commoner."

"Don't judge him too quickly," said Kitty. "He did choose to help us of his own free will, after all."

"I'm not judging him," Katherine responded, shrugging. "I already have."

Before Kitty could protest this, Glen arrived at her side. "So, what're you two up to?"

"Nothing suspicious." Katherine grinned. "Stop worrying so much, Glen. You're the owner of a pub. You're _supposed_ to be irresponsible."

"That's what you think."

Someone yelled across the clearing at them. "Katherine!" It was Clarice. "Come here, I want to show you something."

Katherine said a hurried goodbye to the two of them and went off towards Clarice. Glen sighed.

"Thank God. I was about to strangle someone."

"Why?" Kitty asked.

"He's killing everyone, Morris is," he said as he rubbed his beard tiredly.

"Like you're not biased."

Glen stared at her. "I'll admit that I want to side with Jack. I want to make sure he doesn't get hurt, because if he does, his uncle will kill me."

"Wasn't Jack the one who recruited you, not the other way around?"

"Yes, but you don't know Jack's uncle," said Glen grudgingly. "Fiercely protective of the boy. He and his brother were really close, before Jack's dad went and got himself killed in some forsaken place far away from here. No bloody idea what happened to his mother, although his uncle isn't too fond of her. And Jack's a friend, after all."

"Why doesn't Jack like Morris?"

"Isn't it obvious? Morris and Katherine are so close, or were so close, although she seems to be pissed at him now. You have to know how Jack feels about Katherine."

"I can guess," she admitted.

"And Morris is what, two years older than both of them? I think he probably intimidates the boy, too. Although mainly Jack's angry that he… that he hurt Katherine."

"Your fighting spirit seems to have instilled itself in Jack."

"God, I hope not," grumbled Glen.

"Do you guys need sleeping bags?" Morris had appeared in front of them, clutching a bloody right hand with his left.

"What happened to you?" she asked curiously.

"A snake bit me," he said ruefully. "So, sleeping bags?"

"Uh huh," Glen grunted.

Morris nodded. "Right, then." He waved his uninjured hand and two plush rolls appeared in front of the two, although Kitty noticed they didn't look nearly as comfortable as the ones Nathaniel had summoned.

"Actually, Morris, I already have one," Kitty explained.

"Oh. I guess this one'll go to that loud bloke over there." He pointed to Elliot. "Well, g'night, then!"

He trotted off, and Kitty shot Glen a humoring look before going to find her sleeping bag.

As she passed by Nathaniel, she couldn't help but think that Morris wasn't that unlikable, really. Just a bit of an idiot.

But most guys were.

Nathaniel rolled over in his sleep.

-

Kitty woke up early the next day. The sun was shining to the east, although she could only see the tip of it over the tops of the trees. Throwing the covers off of her makeshift bed (and silently thanking Morris for casting a spell to repel the bugs in the area), she got to her feet, only to wrap her arms around herself and shiver. It was very cold.

"Here." It was Bartimaeus. He threw a jacket to her, which she caught and put on quickly. "Thought you might get cold."

"I did. Thank you."

"No problem."

She licked her lips and sat down next to him. For a lion, he looked peaceful enough, but still regal. "You don't sleep, do you?"

"No," he said. "Instead, I went around stealing clothes for everybody last night to pass the time."

Kitty noticed the bags next to the resting bodies and smiled. "Without orders? You're not softening up, are you?"

"Not a bit."

"Of course."

Bartimaeus laid his head down near her. "Are you willing to die for this?"

She sat down next to him and crossed her legs. "Yes," she said. "It looks like I already will, according to Farrar, but yes."

"Your friend Jack said he would last night," the djinni stated in an off-hand voice. "And that Glen, he seems to be some sort of father figure for Jack, so I'd bet that he would also."

"I wouldn't doubt it."

"And then Morris came over to complain about some snake that bit him." The lion snorted. "Pansy."

Kitty smiled. "Yeah."

A bird chirped behind them and Bartimaeus's eyes flashed dangerously towards a stone in front of him, as if he wanted to throw it.

"You were telling me the last time we met," she began slowly and deliberately, "that there had been a case of a spirit and a human becoming 'friendly', as you put it."

"I did."

"Well, when?"

The lion waved a paw noncommittally. "A long time ago. It doesn't matter now."

"I think it does."

Bartimaeus laughed. "Oh, you do?"

"Yes," she said. "I want to understand you, the spirits."

"Why?"

"I figure as long as I'm trying to make commoners equal to magicians, that I might as well try for spirits while I'm at it," she replied.

"Well, _that's_ a new one." He stopped. "Not entirely new, but I haven't heard that one in a few thousand years from a human. The whole magician-commoner concept is pretty popular, though."

She gave him an odd look. "When was the last time you heard it?"

"It doesn't really matter," he said again, skirting around the subject.

"Again, I think it does."

He gave a low growl. "Listen, to give you the simple version, there was once a boy who summoned a djinni and decided not to use any protective clauses – you know, 'thou shall not kill me' and whatnot – and instead trusted the djinni."

"What happened to the boy?"

"He died."

"Well, I wasn't expecting him to live thousands of years."

"He was sacrificed," stated Bartimaeus simply. "He began trying to get what you said, and the leaders of his empire sacrificed him."

"To what?"

"They didn't sacrifice him to anything, they sacrificed him _for_ something," he said.

"For what?"

"It doesn't matter, really. Like I said, it was a long time ago, and the leaders… well, I don't quite know what happened after that, but for some reason the thing they sacrificed him for was never used."

"Why?"

Bartimaeus glared at her. "I don't know! They got scared of it, I suppose."

"Huh?"

"They realized that what they had made they didn't quite want," replied the lion. "That's just guesswork."

"What were they trying to create?"

"A weapon, probably. No doubt they'd already sacrificed dozens of spirits to make it."

"Then why'd they sacrifice him, too? He was a human."

"Because – because –" his eyes widened and his head shot up for a moment, only to lay back down "– no…"

Kitty was getting rather irritated at this point. "You and Nathaniel had better stop trailing off like that whenever I say something or I'm going to do something about it!"

"It's nothing, really," he said quickly. "I was just thinking about something, but it's meaningless. It's unlikely: I think the weapon was destroyed shortly after they sacrificed Ptolemy."

He stopped short, realizing he had said too much.

"Aha!" she cried. "So, you knew his name! Ptolemy!"

"Yes, well us djinn like to use a person's name when we're talking to each other, don't look so surprised."

"You have to tell me more about this –"

He shook his head. "No, I don't. We've talked enough about this. It's unimportant."

"Fine," Kitty sighed. She rested her head on her palm wearily. "So, where do we rank on the all-time list?"

"Tycho Brahe is definitely up there," said the djinni, happy for the change of subject. "Sometimes summoned me just for a talk, Tycho did. I never did really like the Egyptians or the Romans, usually pretty rude and such. The Czechs were just like the British, who're pompous and vain. Actually, Nat's not that bad as far as magicians go, and now… well, he's getting better, really. Champion of commoners… you don't see that too often in magicians. And you're not that bad, but commoners aren't really that bad generally, although they always call us 'demons' and offensive stuff like that because they fear us."

"I've done that a few times before."

"Yes, and I asked you how you would like being called 'female mudspawn'," chuckled Bartimaeus. "I have a terrific memory, as you can tell. No, you're not very bad, really, although it pains me to admit it. You can talk to me normally, can't you?"

Kitty looked at him quizzically. "You're pretty normal to me." He laughed. "You're just… a bit different."

"That I am," he agreed, albeit with a comical smile. He looked to the sleeping form of Nathaniel and let out a deep breath. "I had high hopes for Nat when I first met him, you know. He had a conscience, unlike most magicians. Then, after the whole golem incident… well, my hopes reversed. But it's weird to see that he might actually become a decent person, after all."

"It's weird to think that I enjoy John Mandrake's company," Kitty commented.

Bartimaeus smirked at her. "I wouldn't go spreading that around. People might get the wrong idea."

"Oh, very funny."

"I'm a funny djinni. I'm Bartimaeus."

"Of course you are, how could I forget?"

The djinni smiled. "You're acting like you aren't going to die in two weeks' time."

"I don't plan on it, but I've gotten over my fear of dying a long time ago," she explained as she picked at a blade of grass with her hand. "You're pretty calm."

"I'm a calm being. When you've been around for five thousand years, then you generally can take just about anything with ease."

Her mind was filled with the image of Bartimaeus speaking in a bored manner to Honorius the afrit right before the golem arrived, and she couldn't help but think to herself that Bartimaeus was a very serene djinni, if not a vocal one.

"I don't really know how Nat plans to get us out of this one," Bartimaeus remarked. "Whoever's behind all of this is pretty powerful, especially if he orchestrated Lovelace's and Duvall's little uprisings. And he has your old chum Hopkins on his side, too."

"How do we know it's _not_ Hopkins?"

The lion placed its head on its paws. "If he truly is a commoner, then he doesn't have all of the necessary resources. To find out all he did about the magicians, he would have to find an inside source."

"Do any suspects come to mind?"

"Yes, but it doesn't really matter," he said. "_Who_ is inconsequential. It's _what_ that worries me."

"Then what comes to mind?"

He grinned. "He has a taste for old artifacts. The Amulet of Samarkand, which was at the base of the Lovelace uprising –"

"What does this amulet do?"

"It absorbs an almost limitless amount of magic," Bartimaeus said. "Well, after that, there was the Staff, and let's not forget that he wanted that cloak, too, and now, I'm pretty sure he's gone and stolen an Archway."

"And what do you think this Archway is for?"

"I'm not completely sure. It's probably some way to summon multiple beings or to harness their power or something of the sort. It seems logical, if you judge by the other items."

She sighed. "But we won't know until we go to the Tower."

"That's right."

"Fun."

"Everything's fun when you hang around Nat."

"It's interesting, at least."

Bartimaeus nodded. "Oh, and speaking of which, look who's waking up."

Nathaniel was sitting up in his sleeping bag and rubbing his eyes wearily. His hair was slightly disheveled, and Kitty smiled: he looked very odd.

"G'morning, beautiful," called out the djinni with unhidden sarcasm. "How're you doing? You conscious?"

"Yes, thank you," replied the magician as he grabbed his stick and, very wobbly, got to his feet. He walked over to them slowly and painfully and, with much effort, sat down next to Kitty. "Are you two having a good time?"

"Surprisingly," said Bartimaeus.

"That's good," he muttered. "Let's see if I can't heal this up a bit."

He lightly touched his leg with his fingers and said a few words that Kitty did not understand. His leg glowed for a few seconds before he leaned back and let out a breath of relief. "That feels better."

"I'll bet it does." Bartimaeus looked up lazily. "For all of that you did back in the Dome, you still got beat to a pulp."

"It's not such a high price if it means living through that."

"No, it isn't," he agreed.

Kitty looked from one to the other. "You still haven't explained to me what went on back there. If your true name is such a weakness, you should be dead, especially since you were going against a djinni… right?"

Nathaniel smiled. "Right."

"Then why are you still alive?"

"Because he's a bastard, that's why," answered Bartimaeus, and Nathaniel laughed.

"That would make sense." His facial expression became more serious. "You do know what I did, right?"

"Unless my hearing has gotten worse or my guessing is way off, then yes."

"I still don't," said Kitty hotly.

Nathaniel looked away from her and out at the trees. "Your name… it is not a source of weakness for you, is it?"

"No. I don't use magic."

"Exactly. But I would be just like you if I had not been orphaned and trained. I would not know magic. Magic is not a birthright, it is something that every individual can do, but they must be trained."

"Unless you're a djinni," said Bartimaeus.

"Of course. But I was thinking… who says that a name has to be a weakness?"

The lion shifted its weight to the right. "As I suspected."

"It's who I truly am, right? It's my birth name. So, if who I am is a weakness, then it also is a strength, because there are all sorts of facets to my personality, some positive and others negative."

"But how did that help you?" Kitty asked, perplexed.

"Simple. He used my name against me, but I did the same back: I said the words of command and then added my name to strengthen my spell-casting."

"But… if they just cancelled each other out, isn't the djinni still stronger than you?"

He rubbed his leg absentmindedly. "Yes, but I don't think they just cancelled each other out. I _am_ Nathaniel, so my name should he most powerful when I use it. I should be able to unlock its full potential."

"Seems pretty iffy to me."

"It was a risk, but it was my only chance," he agreed. "I'm just surprised that no one's ever done this before."

"They probably have," said Bartimaeus. "But magicians don't keep much records like that, and whoever did it first wouldn't spread the secret, would he? But they also pound it into your heads that your name is a weakness. Djinn, on the other hand, acknowledge that the rules binding our two worlds mean that you can summon us using our name, but you can't really use our name against us in a fight, so we never explored the subject. It was some creativity, I'll admit to that."

"It'll take more than creativity to pull us all out alive from the Tower in two weeks, I think," Nathaniel said darkly.

Bartimaeus looked at the rock again as the bird began chirping once more. "We've done it before."

"But we've never gone against whoever is behind it all, have we? He – or she – must be an extremely powerful magician."

"Or he could just be clever," argued Kitty. "Magical ability isn't everything."

"You're right." He smiled. "You're a living contradiction to that statement."

"I'll take it as a compliment."

"It was meant as one," he said. "Well, it might've been. Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're going to knock all magicians again like you have before." She raised her eyebrows. "You've done it before."

"Fine." She extended her hand to him, and he stared at it. "I won't automatically assume all magicians are pompous bastards, and you won't automatically assume that magical ability is necessary to have power."

He took her hand. "Deal."

They shook hands before releasing from each others' grip, both grinning.

Bartimaeus broke the moment.

"Oh, get a room."

-

Almost a week passed without incident. Morris, Thomas, and Elliot kept themselves occupied by playing a magician's game that involved a rock, a stick, and an explosion. Ffoukes sometimes played, too, and there was more than one occasion of explosions happening where they shouldn't have.

The others resorted to talking or finding other ways to amuse themselves, which did not involve explosions at all. Morris found this rather boring, but he kept his distance from Jack and Glen – he wasn't completely dense, after all.

Kitty floated around the clearing, but most of her time was spent with Nathaniel and Bartimaeus. Nathaniel would try to plot, or figure out a way to get them out of the Tower alive, while Bartimaeus would provide some different insight every now and then and also a little comedic relief. If she hadn't been predisposed to hate and fear him when she first met the djinni, she might have noticed that he had a very good sense of humor, but she was only discovering this after spending night and day with him.

"I have no idea what he's planning," groaned Nathaniel as he rubbed his face with his palms.

"None?" questioned Bartimaeus lazily as he swatted a fly with his hand, having reverted to the form of the African boy. Kitty noticed that he preferred this form, but she did not say anything about it.

"Well, naturally I have some ideas, but each is as outrageous as the next."

Bartimaeus snorted. "Since when have things _not_ been outrageous? That giant pentacle Lovelace came up with? Duvall's golem?"

"Thank you for the help," Nathaniel snapped angrily.

"I'm trying to help you, but you're kind of an idiot, Nat."

"Who's this Nat I keep hearing of?"

It was Glen. He sat down next to Kitty and gave Nathaniel an inquisitive glance.

"It's no one," said the magician quietly. He still did not seem to want to make public the knowledge of his true name.

"If you say so, Mandrake."

"That's his name," quipped Bartimaeus. He loved to torment Nathaniel. "Don't forget it."

Glen looked at him as if he'd grown an extra head and Kitty had to hold back a laugh. "Well, do we at least have a plan for this whole Tower thing that your lot is always talking about?"

"No."

"That's wonderful. I'm glad that you're leading us, Mandrake."

"Thank you for the show of support."

"You're welcome."

"As fun as this is," Bartimaeus said, "I think I need to relax. Maybe I'll teach you all the Aztec ball game. It's great fun, really, and I'm very good at it."

Glen sighed and got to his feet. "I need something to do, so that sounds good enough."

And so they went off to find the others, and Kitty and Nathaniel were left alone. Nathaniel shook his head for some reason and laid back onto the grass, resting his head on his hands.

"You know that most of the people here don't trust you, right?" Kitty asked.

"Yes."

She gave him a sideward glance. "And do you care?"

"Not much," he replied. "It won't matter much in a week. We're all going to have to trust each other then."

"Right." She picked at a loose thread that was trailing from her trousers absently. "And what about you… do you trust all of us?"

"I'm trying to, but some of your friends make it very hard. I think their intentions are good, but I'm not sure if I completely trust all of them."

"Oh," she said. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

She blinked. "Why?"

"I just do," Nathaniel responded as if it were a very simple matter. "You're a trustworthy person."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He made a weird facial expression and turned towards her slightly. "How do I put it… well, you…" He bit his lip. "I guess I just feel that you're a good person, and thus you're a trustworthy person."

Kitty smiled. "I'm a good person?" she chortled. "Really? I'm a wanted criminal!"

"No doubt I am, too, if Farrar has told the government about me," he replied. "But I'm serious. I feel, I know, that you're a good person."

"Really?"

"It would take a good person to save me from that golem two years ago."

She blushed unexpectedly and looked at the ground. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I am," Nathaniel stated, a small smile on his face. "I was a real prick back then. Matter of fact, I'm still a prick now, but back then… well, you saw the ridiculously tight suit and the greasy hair."

"That I did," she agreed lightly.

"And also, I betrayed a promise I made to you and your friend," he continued. "You know, two years before that, I wouldn't have even considered breaking that promise. I… I used to be a more innocent magician. I wasn't influenced as much by the material prizes the government could offer."

Kitty looked at him. "Bartimaeus mentioned as much."

"I'm sure it pained him enormously to admit anything of the sort," he said with a grin. His face became graver, though. "But then, even after I betrayed you, you saved my life."

"It wasn't much, really."

"You can downplay it all you want; that doesn't matter to me. But… let's just say I am more appreciative nowadays."

"I guess that's a good thing."

"It is."

"Well, you're not as bad as you're made out to be, you know," she said.

He laughed. "I'm not so sure about that, but thanks, I guess."

It was silent for a few moments.

Finally, Kitty said something. "And if we do fail, I don't suppose it'll be all that bad, will it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We've done a lot already," she replied. At his questioning gaze, she continued further. "We've stopped a golem, you've found out how to use your name to your advantage, we've become friends even though you're a magician and I'm a commoner…"

He looked up at this and, to her surprise, smiled. "That's right. I don't think I'll be too disappointed if I die in the Tower. I've accomplished quite a bit in my rather short life, I think."

"Exactly."

"Well, then, I think I can die peacefully knowing I have befriended Kitty Jones," he stated. His eyes gleamed. "Probably won't ever befriend any of Kitty Jones's friends, but I think Kitty Jones is enough."

"I'm surprised neither of us have died of shock. I would have if you would've told me a few weeks ago that we'd be having a decent conversation."

"I would have, too. But the past… it doesn't matter much anymore. What matters is now."

She nodded and smiled. "Yeah… what matters is now…"

And at that moment, Kitty knew that now, which was all that matters, was perfectly fine, and that she would not die in vain, no matter what happened.

-

A few more days passed, and sooner that Kitty would have liked, it was their last night before they would depart for the Tower. Only the next day would everything come together, if Nathaniel's suspicions were correct, and she had found that usually Nathaniel's suspicions were accurate.

She was genuinely disappointed that they would have to be leaving soon, but not for reasons she was expecting. The prospect of having to die the next day was not a new one, nor did it bother her very much: she'd been threatened with death too often to really fear it anymore. She was disappointed that they would have to leave so soon, just when she felt she was connecting with people she never thought she'd connect with. Even Morris began to grow on her, and his lighthearted comments were always welcome to her.

Nathaniel was altogether a very likeable person, she decided, once one really got to know him. John Mandrake had slowly disappeared, and an altogether different person was now there: Nathaniel. To her surprise, she found that he really was more like her than she could have ever guessed, and she found herself spending more and more time with him. Jack made a point of this to her, and when she asked him why it mattered, he just smirked and gave no answer. The issue of what had happened back in the clearing had become somewhat of a secret between Kitty, Bartimaeus and Nathaniel; contrary to his word, Nathaniel did not disclose what had happened to those who asked.

Bartimaeus was Bartimaeus, of course. He was still witty, and still calm, and he and Morris were quite the duo. He never admitted it, but the djinni had taken a liking to Morris for some odd reason, although it might have just been that Morris entertained him – Kitty supposed she never would really know. Bartimaeus wasn't really all that bad, although he would make a few scathing remarks about humans every few minutes, and he was more interested in his own well-being than anything else, but she could relate to him. He usually seemed interested enough in what she had to say; although, at other times he would pretend to go to sleep after Yasmin or one of the other members of the Resistance had asked him to turn into a unicorn or something equally unimpressive.

Kitty found herself sitting alone over by the edge of the clearing that night, but she was not alone for long – Glen, Joel, and Thomas soon joined her.

"Hello," she greeted them in a dull voice. "How are you doing?"

"Remarkably well, considering everything," grunted Glen. "And you?"

"Alright. A bit irritated that we have to leave so soon."

Thomas took his place next to her. "I'm not too keen on dying tomorrow either."

"It's not the dying that bothers me. It's the leaving."

"Leaving as in…" Joel stopped, as if inviting her to finish.

"Leaving everyone. I've kind of grown attached to this little group, actually."

Glen looked at her darkly. "I think you're growing too close to the magicians and the djinni."

"You spend a good deal of time with Bartimaeus," she scoffed.

"Yes, but I'm trying to make sure I don't get attached."

"Why?"

"I don't trust magicians."

"They're not all that bad. Morris and –" she caught herself before she said 'Nathaniel' "– John are trying to help us out, and they really… they mean it."

"You're growing too close to both of them," Thomas said quietly. "Especially Mandrake."

"_What?"_

"I'd like to believe that he's got good intentions, Kitty," Thomas continued, "but I can't completely trust him. We don't think you should, either."

"I think I can judge for myself," she said more harshly that she had meant to. This was ridiculous. Nathaniel wasn't trying to trick them, or capture them, or anything of the sort! "Thank you for the concern, though."

Joel ran his hand through his hair tiredly. "Listen, Kitty, we all like you. We like you a lot, really: you're a good friend and a good leader and such, but we don't want you to get hurt by these magicians. Yes, they seem alright now, but what about later? I want to believe you, I want to believe that they've got good intentions, but like Thomas, I can't."

"I can," she said coldly. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"I know," agreed Glen, grabbing her shoulder. "Ultimately, you have to make the decision, and whatever that is, we'll try our best to support you because you _are_ our leader, and we trust you. We're just trying to give you advice, to help you make that decision."

"I'm glad that you trust me, because you're just going to have to trust me on this one."

Thomas looked at her helplessly. "Kitty, you let me in to the Resistance and you don't care that I'm the youngest, or at least you don't show it. You treat me as an equal, you know? I appreciate that, and… I'm trying to help you out. We all are. I'm the youngest, but… well, age isn't everything."

"I know, Thomas," she said softly.

Glen smiled. "I've made the mistake, but I trust Thomas. Sometimes… age underestimates youth. It's a common mistake, but it shouldn't necessarily be made."

"I know, Glen. I accept your counsel, but that doesn't mean I'll follow it."

"We accept that," said Joel, "and we will trust your judgement no matter what. We wanted to try to give advice, but more importantly, we want you to know that we're behind you, no matter what."

Kitty looked from Joel to Thomas and then finally to Glen and felt that, if she were to die the next day, then she would have no regrets.

"Thanks," she said weakly. "You don't know how much it means to me."

But for some reason, she suspected that she did, and she would not at all be disappointed if her words were proved untrue.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **The longest chapter yet (again)! You really get some good insight into Kitty in this chapter, which I like, and there are several clues laced into this chapter that the clever reader can catch. I hope you liked the name bit - for some reason I really liked that, and have always wondered about it.

**Next Chapter: **_The Good Die Young_


	19. The Good Die Young

Sorry about the wait. I was very busy recently, but I'll try to get out the next chapter sooner. I only have two chapters left to write, so it shouldn't take that long, but eh, I don't know. I'm going to finish this fic by October 6th. Or at least I think I am.

You'll notice right off the bat that it's a different chapter, and I prefer this style of writing to what I had been doing previously. It's the only way I could get the ending to work out smoothly, so if you don't like it, I'm sorry, but it has to be this way.

And so here it is... the first chapter of the three chapter climax: The Good Die Young.

**Disclaimer: **The Bartimaeus Trilogy is property of Jonathan Stroud and his publishers, and the term "The Good Die Young" is from some song or book or something. Dunno about that one, but just don't sue me and we'll be okay.

**Chapter Nineteen  
**The Good Die Young

**_"There's a feeling I get  
When I look to the west,  
And my spirit is crying for leaving.  
In my thoughts I have seen  
Rings of smoke through the trees,  
And the voices of those who stand looking."  
- _**_**Led Zeppelin's **"Stairway to Heaven"_

Sooner than Morris would have liked, the day of their departure came. Morris was not looking forward to it very much at all: who would honestly be happy that they were going off to die?

Certainly not him. Although, to be honest, it wasn't like he had been doing much in the two weeks that he'd been in the clearing. Mostly, he had been teaching some of the others to play Boomsticks, a very fun game that was not unlike cricket, and Bartimaeus had taught the group an old Aztec ball game. He had tried to convince them that the losers should be sacrificed, but Morris disagreed. He had almost no hand-eye coordination, and felt that he would be the first to lose. Needless to say, he was right.

As the hours passed the others were all scurrying about, doing this and that and occasionally some of both. Morris did nothing. He did not have anyone to play a game with, and he had no one to talk to, either. Nathaniel, Kitty, and Bartimaeus would talk to him, but they were all busy. Katherine was very mad at him and some of the others just didn't like him.

He didn't really understand what Katherine was mad about. If she had been forced into his position…

The day that he'd left was still very vivid in his mind. The government had come to him a few days before, saying that he should either continue his education or give up the practice of magic. He was not very prominent with magic, but he liked to use it every now and then, and he was no fool. Even if he didn't use much magic, the best jobs were always saved for magicians. Always.

Morris had accepted their offer and left his old friends, Katherine among them. Really, it was his master's fault, he thought. He had been horrible, and scared Morris out of his wits whenever possible to show him the "dangers of demons", and probably had permanently scarred him. And so, one stormy day, Morris had jumped out of the upstairs window and never saw his old master again.

But what Katherine didn't understand – what all of his old friends didn't understand – was that a choice like that was difficult. Morris was not particularly brave or courageous. He was easily intimidated, and feared many things. He did not want to live the life of a commoner. The life of a magician was a very scary thought, but Morris preferred it to the alternative. Besides, at the time he'd thought that he might even make a few friends. Sure, whenever he got uncomfortable humor became a self-defense mechanism, but some people might find that endearing.

It was very clear as soon as he'd stepped foot in the university that this was not the case. It wasn't a huge school like the ones he'd seen during his stay in America (his master once had a job there for a few months and took Morris along), but it was imposing enough. None of the magicians had much of a sense of humor.

And he discovered very early that it had not just been his old master who thought commoners were beneath them. He'd hoped that maybe the old man was just crazy, but most magicians seemed to think along these lines. Morris had always known that magicians had better opportunities and ruled the Empire, but he'd hoped that maybe things might be different. But they weren't, and he felt very guilty for leaving his friends.

When he had left the university, his physics professor had offered him one bit of advice.

"_Morris, keep your nose out of it and do your job."_

When he went to work as a lab technician, hoping to work his way up to CSI, this advice came in handy. He was not like most magicians, as he had suspected, and most of the magicians he came across fancied him odd. After a while he began to relish this, because it made him different from _them_, and eased his guilt, which he knew would never really go away.

It was odd to think that he would be leaving to try and change everything in only a few hours. He would most likely lose – they would all lose – and die in the process. Death, although the others pretended otherwise, was still a very scary thought. There was so much he wanted to do, but now… his life was being cut short.

Fate was cruel.

Morris could only hope that he'd bring a few evil bastards down with him.

"Morris?" He looked up, startled.

"Oh. 'Ello, Thomas."

"You were looking at that tree all funny," said the boy, flicking a nut into the air with his hand. It landed neatly in the outstretched palm of his opposite hand. "I thought you'd gone crazy."

Morris laughed. "Oh, don't worry, I went crazy a long time ago."

"I've heard as much."

Morris's brow furrowed, knowing what this meant. "She's pretty angry, isn't she?"

"Katherine?" asked Thomas. "Oh, no, she's quite cheerful. She has the _nicest_ things to say about you."

"I see," Morris said as he watched the nut rise into the air and then fall once more. "You seem pretty calm. I mean, honestly, if I were you I'd have run long ago. You're only a –"

"Only a kid?" Thomas finished darkly.

Morris looked fixedly at a patch of grass in front of his trainers. "Well, it sounds worse when you say it like that."

"I'm not scared." His voice was defiant, maybe even proud. _This kid is going off to die and he's handling it better than I am_, Morris thought miserably. "I'm far past being scared."

"Lucky you," Morris muttered as he kicked the grass bitterly. "Unfortunately, I'm still at that place. I'm scared out of my mind."

"Really?"

"Yes." He coughed up something and spat it on the ground in irritation. "I mean, I'm nineteen. There's so much I haven't done. I shouldn't be dying today."

"You seem pretty resigned to it," remarked Thomas dryly.

"It's harder than it looks to have hope."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it's impossible."

Morris shrugged. "Maybe not. But the odds are, we're all going to die."

"You don't know that," Thomas said.

"Oh, really?" Morris scoffed, throwing him a lazy glance as if to intimidate him. Thomas stood his ground, meeting his gaze with a stony stare. "What do you know?"

"I know that everything's not lost."

The words hung in the air for a few moments before Morris answered. "Not yet, anyway."

"Pessimist."

"All I know is that we're going to try to break into the most famous prison in the world and meet whoever's been behind all of this madness. Not many people would expect to live through that."

"It's not like the Tower's that big, though," Thomas commented. "I mean, I didn't really see it much because when the police took me in they blindfolded me and gagged me for some reason, but in our history textbook, the main building's only a few stories high."

"That's probably the old famous Czech painting of the Tower," said Morris thoughtfully. "When Gladstone came into power, they added two stories to the top, making that painting pretty useless. What do you know of the Tower, actually? I never really knew much about what commoners were taught."

Thomas looked up in thought and made a face. "Not much. They told us some of the basics, such as the fact that the White Tower was made by the magician Gandalf –"

"Gundulf," Morris corrected. "The Empire bought it from the old royalty fairly early on, though."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Gandalf, Gundulf. No one cares."

"No one that's still alive, at least."

Thomas brushed a strand of hair from his face. "What if we, you know… _win?"_

"Don't be an idiot," Morris said. He smiled. "But if we do, I'm going out to get drunk as hell. Want to come along?"

"Alcohol?" Thomas shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"I'll feel guilty about letting you drink the stuff, but who cares?" Morris laughed. "My plan is to get so intoxicated that I won't even remember all of this."

"Again, sounds good to me."

"So it's a deal? We're both going to go get drunk after this?"

"Yeah. Think Glen'll come along?"

"Dunno. He doesn't like me much."

Thomas made a noncommittal noise. "Yeah, but the guy owned his own pub. He won't turn down a drink if you offer it to him."

"Good point," agreed the older of the two. "So…"

"Yeah."

"Let's win so we can go get drunk."

Thomas grinned. "That'll make a good battle-cry, you think?"

"Of course," his counterpart answered as he ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Not _'Remember Gladstone'_ or a line of that sort. _'We're going to defeat you, restore peace and a fair government, and then we're going to go get so drunk that we don't remember a lick of it!'_ Yes, that's just about perfect."

"They'll never know what hit 'em," Thomas said. He looked at the ground thoughtfully. "Y'know, Elliot's so cowardly a fighter that we might want to get him a few drinks beforehand."

"Ah, that might be a wee bit difficult."

"Never mind, then," Thomas sighed. "At least we now know what we're doing this for."

"Right-o. To alcohol!" Morris held up an imaginary glass, and Thomas clinked his own against it.

"To alcohol!"

-

Let's clear this up before you get the wrong idea: I really hate it when people make me their errand boy.

Naturally, being a djinni doesn't help matters. But that's beside the point.

For the past two weeks, I had been running around to and fro, getting food and clothes and all sorts of other things that Nathaniel referred to as "necessities of life". Trust me, it wasn't very fun having to go buy tampons at the drug store, especially since I forgot to change my guise from that of a geeky-looking man with absurdly thick glasses. The clerk gave me some odd looks, to say the least.

Errands aside, it had been a relatively low-key two weeks. It had mostly consisted of lounging around the clearing, with the occasional vain attempt to entertain oneself. Nathaniel had been very busy, however. Judging from the slew of paper (a slew of paper that yours truly had been forced to go buy at said drug store) that trailed behind him wherever he went, he was trying to exhaust any and every idea of how we could enter the Tower and somehow escape. Mainly, he would begin drawing the blasted building and then would curse and throw it in a crumpled ball over to the side.

Humans are so productive these days.

I, however, had played Boomsticks with Morris and some of the others, and taught the group the old Aztec ballgame I had once mentioned to Nathaniel and that Jakob boy. Morris had tried to impress some of the Resistance members by magicking one of Nathaniel's little paper balls over to where he was sitting, but this demonstration paled in comparison to my setting ablaze of those very balls. To the untrained eye, it looked as if I had set them on fire by staring at them. To the trained eye, I had used an old spell the required very little movement of the lips.

I could not blame Nathaniel, though. He was handling himself better than I had anticipated, and sometimes only stared at the ground thoughtfully. The crumpling-of-the-balls happened enough for me to want to hit him, but then again, most humans annoy the hell out of me by just existing. But there was at least a reason for his anxiety.

I had decided, after much hypothesizing and careful thought during one of my many errands, that this person we were going up against was most definitely Bad.

That's right, Bad with a capital 'b'. This person was so bad that they were Bad. They had organized everything that I thought had been bad – Lovelace, Duvall, the assassin, the golem – and therefore, they were officially Bad. To give a brief summary: if they had organized everything that had been bad, then they themselves must be a notch above bad, and were Bad. So we were going up against a Bad guy. With a capital 'b'.

On this same errand, I had judged that I really had too much spare time to think.

According to my old Czech masters' conversations over tea, William Gladstone had most definitely been Bad. But all he had wanted was to conquer those damn Czechs, a term so used in Britain that it too had been capitalized, and the Czechs were then referred to as Those Damn Czechs. It's not much of a difference, but it's subtle, and subtlety is sometimes more profound than anything else.

Back to Gladstone, then. Well, according to Those Damn Czechs, he had been Bad, but he didn't seem to be as terrible as the mastermind we were going up against. Our power-hungry mastermind had encouraged the killing of all of Parliament, and the rampaging of Britain, which was probably his homeland. He was clearly a psychotic sociopath, whereas Gladstone was just a bit more deranged than most magicians.

So, using this model as my reference, William Gladstone had been Bad (But Not As Bad As Certain Others). Or maybe even Bad But Not All That Bad. Or maybe Slightly Bad. It was a tough decision, surely, and it didn't really matter, but the mind wanders when death is looming on the horizon. It's a strange concept, actually.

For death did seem certain, I admit, and there would be death, although that's later on in the story. For when you are even going against people that are Bad (But Not As Bad As Certain Others), or people who are just Bad But Not All That Bad, or maybe even those who are Slightly Bad, death is incredibly likely. But we were going against someone who was Bad All By Itself Without Further Notation, or just Bad, and this was somewhat terrifying.

But even in the prelude to our inevitable clash with this Bad person, I was very bored. As I said, the mind wanders.

And so my mind drifted to other thoughts, thoughts different but not altogether so from those of Badness. It should be very evident what I thought of at this point.

Nathaniel, of course.

That was a shameless insult, really, but Nathaniel… well I consider all magicians bad. Not necessarily Bad or Slightly Bad, but at least bad. There are exceptions, of course, such as Ptolemy, but those were rare with any spirit.

Nathaniel, besides his obsessive planning, had been acting very strangely for the past few weeks. He had been unusually kind, or at least tolerant, when dealing with us all. For the first time in a long time, I felt that my master actually considered my opinion. Nathaniel had usually considered my opinion, but it had never really carried much weight unless he was desperate. But he had begun truly considering what I thought, and it was a bit alarming.

But I didn't think that Nathaniel needed counsel as much as he used to. As he had grown older, and during this tumultuous weeks, he had grown wiser, and more patient. I had once deemed this impossible, but scarily enough, it had happened. Nathaniel had always possessed the motivation and talent to do many things, and he had always been cunning, but now he was wise enough to use his skills. He would be a force to be reckoned with for sure, if he was not killed in the Tower as it surely seemed he would be.

Yet if there was anyone that could devise a plan so brilliant that it helped us escape from this situation, it was he. Like an architect, he was now knowledgeable enough to use all of the tools at his disposal, and to realize that in the Greater Scheme of Things, that he was just a pawn. He had recognized that his life was valuable, but not so valuable that many others should be sacrificed for his sake. The Greater Scheme of Things was horrifying, but to the prepared mind, it could be manipulated to one's needs, and thus was wonderful as well.

And now, Nathaniel was learning how to manipulate the Greater Scheme of Things. It was doubtless that the Bad mastermind would possess this skill also, as he had orchestrated so much already. Nathaniel was young and motivated, while our nemesis would most likely be old and cunning. It would be a marvelous duel. Throw in some popcorn and you'd have yourself a regular old party.

Every now and then during that long period, I would wonder: was it possible that we would win? Was it possible that Nathaniel could pull off a feat that seemed impossible?

Brilliant as he was, the answer was almost always "no" in my mind. Nathaniel could only do so much, for he was _human._ Our survival would depend on all of us, and if we were not united, we would fall. None of us even knew what we were going up against, while our opponent would have a vast knowledge of his enemy.

To think that I'm considered cocky and not as serious as I ought to be. Hmph.

It was a pity, really, that we were supposedly destined to die. Nathaniel and Kitty were surely about to announce their engagement soon, at the rate they were going.

It was sickening to watch. They may have been too stupid to see it, but I wasn't. It wasn't noticeable if you were looking for the wrong signs – a brush of the hand, a nervous laugh. Really, it's all in the eyes.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, or so it has been said. If you're really looking, then this is evident. There are ways to determine what each action means, whether it's a flicker or a blink or even a squint. It's a very tricky subject, and it takes a long time to really hone the skill, but it's worth it.

And, quite frankly, Nathaniel and Kitty were having eye-sex.

Sickening, I know.

But, unfortunately, like all things that shouldn't be, it was true, and it was happening more and more often. Never mind that I avoid human pornography anyway. This was just… too much.

At least they didn't just shed their clothes and begin snogging and shagging right then and there. That… that, my friends, is called indecency in public, and it can get you up to six months' time without probation, providing you have as bad a lawyer as old Urich Stantleton. But that is a different story, and the details are quite graphic. If you must know, it involves a dead fish, a bush, and a naked man, along with a car crash. The car crash might've been caused by a large telephone pole I had "accidentally" pushed into the middle of the road as a "distraction", but that is neither here nor there.

On a more serious note (ha), they really did have some sort of awkward chemistry. Quite mind-boggling to an intelligent djinni like myself, but with each passing day, they started to understand each other more (and the eye-sex got more intense, too) and, by the time our Last Few Days (a term commonly used during the end of each empire – it's morbid, really) had rolled around, they were actually talking without talking. It's another skill that requires some practice, and can take quite a while, but is very useful. Unlike the whole eye business, it was a unique skill between a group; even if there was another silent-talker in the area, unless they knew the two silent-talkers talking extremely well, then that intruding silent-talker could not deduce what the two were saying.

That didn't make any sense. Blargh. Blargh, I say, blargh.

You are also probably marveling at my ineptitude to really give any background information without deviating into areas such as silent-talking and eye-sex. It's all necessary, though. Well, not completely, but I think it brightens up the whole descriptive area, which can tend to get very boring, especially if a human writes it. Thankfully, for your sakes, I am a djinni, and as a djinni, I am higher on the evolutionary ladder than a human. Obviously.

So, to summarize, I was expecting for Nathaniel and Kitty to proclaim their undying love any moment, now. It was an obvious bet, if one was in the betting business. But if I were so inclined to partake in the betting business, I would have bet on Morris and Katherine (although the girl can't stand the boy) or that Yasmin lass and Elliot (I don't know how I came up with that one) as my dark horses.

I hope it's not too obvious that I'm not the gambling type, per se.

Oh, dear, I have run off-course again. What a tragedy.

To prevent you from any further damage due to my wonderful descriptions and my witty one-liners, I will try to make an effort to stay on-task. It's pretty hard, though, but I don't really think I'd be too pleased with myself if someone died because of my writing. It doesn't help the ego.

If Nathaniel read this, lovely long words and talk of _sex_, just imagine. His eyes would bulge out of his head and break his skull, and then the shards of the bone would jab into his disproportionately large brain. Good imagery, no?

I've done it again. You know, run off-course. Must make a note to myself…

_Do not run off-course. _

And maybe I can even draw a lovely little illustration of Nathaniel's head exploding –

Oh, dear. I'm a hypocrite. Already going off-course again.

Sorry about that.

Anyway, as I looked up from my reverie to what sounded like distinct calls of, "To alcohol!", I noticed that the group was more antsy than ever. Nathaniel was pacing quickly around the clearing, Kitty bouncing ideas off of him whenever he made his rounds past her (which was quite a lot, peculiarly). Morris and Thomas, who I think had been the ones crying out, were now flat-backed on the ground. The others were mostly chewing their fingernails, pacing, sitting, or some combination of the three.

Humans are very odd.

And then, to cap all of this off, Nathaniel stopped pacing – I'm not even kidding, there were skid marks in the grass – and suddenly jumped up in excitement, pointing wildly over my head.

"The sun! It's about to set!"

And so, instantaneously and unpredictably, as many things are born, so was mass chaos.

-

Nathaniel had been pacing before his outburst, and he supposed that was how the lowering sun had not caught his attention. It was really his fault. He had been paying so much attention to thinking and to talking to Kitty and hadn't been attentive at all towards the time.

So when he had noticed it looming just above the horizon, threatening to set, he had naturally overreacted.

"The sun! It's about to set!"

There was mass confusion as soon as the words had escaped from his mouth. People jumped up and began scurrying around pointlessly, as if that would help, until finally a loud yell from Kitty silenced them.

"QUIET!" The scurrying stopped, and Morris sat down promptly. "Good. Now, we all know the plan. It's the same arrangements as our escape from the Tower."

"But my car," protested Ffoukes, "they recognize it now."

Kitty smiled somberly. "I don't think that'll matter much now."

"Of course," Nathaniel said, clearing his throat in a boss-like manner. "Everyone, to your means of transportation! We must be leaving!"

Everyone began running around distractedly once more, and Bartimaeus merely shrugged beside him. "You tried."

"Yes, I did," he sighed. "I don't think I really need to say what we require, do I?"

"Of course not. I'm a smart djinni." A blink of an eye, and an eagle now stood next to Nathaniel. "So, time for a joyride, then?"

"I'm not sure how joyful this joyride is going to be," Kitty muttered as she mounted him carefully.

"Watch the feathers," he warned her. "But anything with me is joyful."

"Keep telling yourself that," Nathaniel said as he situated himself behind Kitty, careful to pull one or two feathers just to irritate Bartimaeus. Wrapping his arms around Kitty's abdomen, he took a deep breath and looked ahead determinedly. "Off we go."

The great, silver wings of the eagle began to stroke at the air as if piercing it with a knife, and in mere moments the three were high above the Earth, the clearing no longer in sight. Nathaniel felt the thin air rush into his lungs, filling him with a feeling of anticipation.

Birds attempted to fly by them, but they were no match for Bartimaeus. One flock of ravens did manage to keep up with them for a short while, and for some reason Nathaniel felt that they were there to see them off to their final battle. Ravens, a bird linked with darkness and despair, sending off soldiers as they went to fight a fight they could not win. It was very fitting, he decided.

The Tower began to come into sight, and Nathaniel grabbed Kitty tighter without thinking. _So, this is it? _he thought. _No pit of fire, no mountain of ice; just some ancient building? It's a sad ending to a sad life, but maybe there is still some ray of hope that with our deaths, we can save faceless others._

But the sun was setting. Could there be rays of hope if there was no source?

_We are the source,_ he thought. _We are the last hope. Only we know of this corruption, this terror. We are the last soldiers of the forces of good, against the puppet of evil. We are no heroes. We just aren't villains._

There was some solace, some stability in that, for it was true. Certainly this ragtag group was not comprised of great and tragic heroes. Anti-heroes, rather, but maybe that was enough in the long run, for as Bartimaeus had said: a hero is just a murderer, or an assailant, or even an enemy.

_We are not murderers. Not yet._

"It's beautiful, in an odd way," Kitty whispered in front of him.

"Yes," he agreed quietly, regarding the Tower with alert eyes. "It is."

Death is not so terrible. Death can be beautiful. It is just a tragic beauty. 

The Tower was drawing ever closer, and Nathaniel knew it was appropriate that his last free thoughts would be of his demise.

"We'll be landing now." Even Bartimaeus was morose.

They began their slow descent, and soon enough they had landed, right outside the entrance. As they were dismounting, a black car showed up to their side: Ffoukes's car. And behind them a hawk was landing.

The group was there. The battle would shortly begin.

"So," came Morris's voice as he exited from the car, "everyone doing good? No stomach cramps, or headaches? That would be pretty unfortunate. I mean, think about it. 'Oh, yes, I'm going to fight you, but could you wait a minute for my medicine to kick in? I'm not feeling very well.' Very unlucky."

"I'm not in the mood, Morris," Katherine stated from behind him. "I don't think any of us are."

He looked at her and scratched the back of his neck. "Right, then. Sorry."

"Well, we're all here, I suppose," Nathaniel announced, breaking the tense moment. He fidgeted with his shirt anxiously – his clothes were far too casual, and the breeze blowing around the area was giving him a frightful chill. "I suppose there's no use delaying it, eh?"

He was about to turn to the door when he received an answer.

"Wait." Kitty stepped towards him, towards the group. "We… we can't just go in there. I think we should say our proper goodbyes."

"Oh, don't worry," said Elliot irritably, "we've done that much six times over."

"I haven't," she replied coolly. "I just want to say that – that all of you, even you magicians, that – we're a team, no matter what, right? And to the end, we're going to fight together. We're not going to leave anyone behind, we're all going to make it through this together, and whatever happens, we – we can die with pride."

"With pride," Glen repeated softly. "I would not be so disappointed to die with one last feeling of pride."

"Exactly. I just wanted to, you know, let you all know that we're in this together, no matter what."

"No matter what," Nathaniel agreed. "We're all going to step through that door together, and we're all going to make it out together."

"No." It was Jack. "You're our leader, Mandrake. You've gotten us this far. You… you're the one this guy wants to face. You will go, and we will follow."

Nathaniel smiled weakly. "Now, I don't think that –"

"The kid's right," Bartimaeus, now a lion once more, said with odd sincerity. "You're our leader. We're going to follow you through thick and thin. You're going to show us the way."

Nathaniel looked helplessly around the group, but no one was raising any protests, and finally, he looked to Kitty. She was staring at him intently, her eyes passionate and fiery, and she nodded very slowly.

"You're our leader," she reaffirmed so that only he could hear. "I'll follow you wherever you take me."

It hit him then: they looked to _him_ for guidance. He was their leader. They believed in him to light the path, and Nathaniel felt that he could not deny his responsibility if they had all placed their faith in him.

So he turned to the doors and, with one last look back, pushed them open with a great heave, revealing the interior of the Tower to the group once more.

It did not look much like it had when he had last visited it. The iron grille had been wrought into pieces, and now lay on the ground, although there was a clear path. He motioned for the others to follow, and he slowly began to tread his way through the path cleared of debris, when he was finally standing in a small circle with the others near the far wall.

Suddenly, a loud voice emanated from the walls: _"Stay where you are. You shall be brought to me."_

The circle they were standing on began to separate itself from the ground and lift itself into the air. Circular holes began to form in the floors above, the stone folding upwards to form a tunnel, and the makeshift lift began its slow course to the top.

"Just like real magic," Bartimaeus said with a trace of light-hearted humor in his voice. "Eerie."

"Wow, real magic!" Morris commented sarcastically. He nudged Nathaniel with his elbow. "So, our leader, any interesting tidbits to share about this thing? Never heard of it myself."

"I suppose that Gladstone ordered it constructed as a means of getting to the top two floors." Nathaniel regarded the walls interestedly. "It's probably got some sort of enchantment on it that can only be commanded by those whom Gladstone deemed worthy… and mind you, Gladstone didn't deem many worthy. I believe there used to be more information in the old texts written by the leaders of the day and also Gladstone's diaries, but those were put in the preservative libraries almost a hundred years ago."

"Oh," Morris said simply. "But seven floors, huh? Is that magically powerful or something?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "Some say so. There are quite a few 'magically powerful' numbers: the most basic are three, six, and seven, and then it gets tricky –"

"I don't like tricky," the technician interrupted him. "Tricky confuses me."

"Well, another thing is the fact that there's a medical bay on every other floor. You know, the even-numbered ones." Nathaniel shot a smirk at him. "It dates back to an old decree stating that all government buildings must have a medical bay close at hand."

"What about the sixth floor?" Bartimaeus asked dully. "Who knows what's up there?"

"I imagine it would have a medical bay, too," said Nathaniel. "Gladstone was probably doing something dangerous in his top two floors, and besides, he was one of the ones pushing for that decree to pass. But this is all guesswork."

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Finally, the circle stopped, and the walls surrounding them dissolved until it was apparent they were in a floor that was not visited much. Nathaniel had never seen it before – maybe it was one of the secret floors he had heard so much talk about.

The group began to make a move forwards, but the voice, this time more human, stopped them: _"Only the three may pass."_

"Which three?" Nathaniel asked quizzically.

"_The resilient girl, the djinni, and the magician. They alone have proven themselves."_

"Listen, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but no, I refuse! Come and take us if you will, but you cannot just pick-and-choose!"

"_You misunderstand me. The others will merely have to pass a test before the doors will open for them."_

"We've got plenty of time to wait," Kitty retorted hotly.

"Do you not wish to meet your true adversary, Kitty Jones?" 

She paused, her face blank. Glen touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Do it. This test, we'll pass it. You three go ahead."

Nathaniel gave the group one last look and sighed. "Very well! We have agreed to your terms."

The voice did not reply, and instead in the wall in front of them a small door appeared.

"I guess that's for us, then," Bartimaeus said. As he began to walk towards it, he waved a paw back at the group. "So long! Have a nice afterlife, all!"

Kitty grabbed Nathaniel's hand and dragged him after her to catch up with the djinni, shouting, "Goodbye!" over her shoulder. Finally, they were walking with him, but Kitty did not let go of Kitty's hand, and he gripped her hand tighter.

"I see you've regained what little sense you had," commented Bartimaeus dryly.

"Of course," said Nathaniel. Kitty's hand was very warm, and a pleasant tingling feeling was rising from his palm to his arm to the rest of his body. "We humans don't lose our sense for very long."

Bartimaeus snorted. "Yes, right."

They were drawing closer to the door, and to their final conflict.

"So, a lion, huh?" Kitty said.

"You don't have to fill these silences, you know."

"Oh."

Finally, they were standing directly in front of the door. Nathaniel's breathing increased, and he gripped Kitty's hand so fiercely that he was afraid he would crush her, but she squeezed his hand back as if to comfort him.

"Here we are," said Nathaniel. "I guess I'll open it?"

"Yes, but I'm going to stand with you at the door whether you like it or not," Bartimaeus stated. "If there's a trap on the other side, I'm going to need to protect you."

Kitty nodded. "And I will be there, too."

"All right. Towards the door!"

They took a collective step forward, and Nathaniel grabbed the handle with his free hand and pulled.

There was no trap on the other side. There was what looked like a large, cavernous room, almost like an auditorium, with twin stairways that led up to a platform looking out a great, dark window. The three took one look back and stepped into the room.

The door behind them disappeared, and a voice rang out from the platform.

"You have come."

It sounded oddly familiar, but Nathaniel could not place it. Instead, his eyes were drawn to something below the platform: an archway. The Archway of Anubis.

"I see you're eyeing the Archway of Anubis," said the voice. "A tricky piece. Took me years to find out how it worked. Would you like to hear about it?"

"That's no pagan's artifact," breathed Bartimaeus. "That's Ptolemy's Gate!"

"Call it what you will," came the voice, and a cloaked figure made its way towards the edge of the platform. It gave a distinctive shrug and leaned against the railing. "Its purpose is still the same."

"Who are you?" Nathaniel demanded.

The figure laughed. "Have you not figured it out all ready? You are such a bright boy; I thought that someday you might make a worthy adversary. Alas, the Archway – or Gate – is ready now, and I have no intention of waiting for someday."

Nathaniel's eyes widened.

"You!" 

"Yes, me!" cried the figure. A gloved hand reached up and removed the hood, and a man's face was revealed.

Quentin Makepeace, exuberant grin filling out his features, stood before them.

"How?" Nathaniel cried bitterly, his face flushing. "I trusted you!"

"Yes, you did, and that was your first mistake." Makepeace leaned over the railing, as if having a very interesting conversation with the group. "It made it very easy to manipulate you, all of you. Trust is a very dangerous weakness."

Nathaniel gritted his teeth. "How?"

"Before we get to that, we really should address another issue," said Makepeace, wagging a finger as if to scold him. He pointed at Bartimaeus. "You, demon! Can you see me clearly?"

Bartimaeus swore. "No… and I don't know why, either. It's just very distorted somewhere up there."

"Just wanted to see if you'd fib or not." The playwright chuckled. "I already tested this on an afrit and a few djinn earlier."

"Why can't he see you?" Kitty asked.

"Ms. Jones!" Makepeace exclaimed, as if just seeing her. "Why, it's been two years since I last saw you! Doing well, I hope?"

Kitty looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Theater building? Needle?" Makepeace waved his hands around as if to demonstrate something.

"You!"

"Yes, I've been getting that a lot recently," he laughed. It was odd: he did not sound very evil to Nathaniel, not yet. "I've been manipulating you all. Hopkins was in on it, but I don't think you should worry about him. He's very much dead right now."

"You killed Hopkins?" Nathaniel burst out incredulously.

Makepeace grinned. "Yes, all by myself! He was a useful tool for only so long, after all, and I decided to kill him on the very day you tried to escape. I did, but he was able to activate a few of his old weapons as he died. Thus, I needed two weeks to recover."

"We saw that murder," Bartimaeus said quietly. "The explosion…"

"That was you, flying above? Oh, it _is_ a small world."

His hand was squeezed once more by Kitty's. "But what about Glen's contact?"

"Sanders? A useful alias."

"And how'd you get that cloak?"

"Your dear old friend Nick retrieved it for me," replied Makepeace, checking his fingernails casually. "I killed him shortly afterwards. Too many connections can bog a person down, you see. Especially in my line of work."

"I don't get it," Nathaniel said distractedly. Nothing made sense. "Why all of that fuss over the Staff, and not over the cloak?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Think, my dear Nathaniel! The Staff I wanted very badly, but the cloak, it was just a nice asset."

"Why is the Staff so important? I don't see it."

"Of course you don't. I wanted to make sure it was out of the picture. I don't think it's quite powerful enough to destroy my Archway, but I thought it was the safest course of action."

"And the cloak?"

"Invisibility, my boy!" cackled Makepeace delightedly. "Of course, I'm not invisible to both of you, but to spirits, the area around me has been magically scrambled so they cannot see me, for they rely very much on magic to see. But as I said, it was not a necessity."

Slowly, Nathaniel was beginning to piece everything together. "And the Archway?"

"The Gate," Bartimaeus corrected him under his breath. "Ptolemy's Gate."

"What do you think, Nathaniel?"

Before he could answer, there was an extremely loud crack in the room that the three had just come from.

"Oh, dear," tutted Makepeace disappointedly. "I don't think your friends are having much fun with my little test."

"SHUT UP!" shouted Kitty furiously, lunging forward towards the stairs. Nathaniel pulled her back and close to him, wrapping his free arm around her securely to stop her.

"Nasty temper you have there," said Makepeace, as if commenting on the weather. "You might want to see a shrink about that. But what do you think, Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel looked at the Archway warily. Beautiful, ornate illustrations were carved into it's stone, and a dark red ruby crowned its top. It was truly a sight to be seen, and he could feel its magic from where he was standing.

"It's like a pentacle, I guess. It's some sort of mass summoning device."

Makepeace bit his lip. "Partially correct. Not really like a pentacle at all. It _is _a mass summoning device, but I think you can figure out the rest from there."

"You're using the cloak to shield yourself from the spirits you are summoning?"

"No!" he said, exasperated. "Did I not already say that the cloak was not of the utmost importance? There is something else you are forgetting, something that _is_ stupendously important."

Nathaniel looked at him in awe. "The Amulet of Samarkand?"

"Exactly, my boy!"

"But I don't understand," Nathaniel said. "Who's to say that the spirits will do what you wish them to do?"

"Oh, I don't have to order them around." The playwright danced around the platform playfully. "The rending of them from their home by these means is very painful, and very irritating. This archway was caused by sacrificing numerous spirits and one human to form that ruby, a sign of the connected worlds. The demons will get very agitated by their release and destroy all that they can. This will last for two days, and I will be able to wield its powers once again as soon as I sacrifice another human."

"How does this help you?" Bartimaeus questioned.

"Very simple. I will go to the world leaders, as this destruction rages, and demand their power. If they agree, I will not destroy their world and I will not kill them. All I want is a little bit of power."

Kitty strained against Nathaniel's arm. "You're sick!"

The young magician pulled her back against him carefully, so that he could feel his heart beating against the hollow of her back. Their hands were gripped tighter than ever, and slowly, Nathaniel could feel both Kitty and himself relaxing.

"Sick, am I?" Makepeace laughed. "Maybe. But I am also brilliant! I have set up Lovelace and Duvall, I have set up your meeting on the _Paix Fausse_, Nathaniel's capture of you – I have reached far into your world, girl, and perhaps you don't realize it. The only reason I am sharing this with you is because you have survived all of this, and I feel you deserve an explanation at least. But I am dreadfully sorry, for in an hour this Archway will activate and I will be quite invulnerable. Good job surviving to this point, though. You deserve my commendations on that."

The cloaked man gave them one glance before he snapped his fingers and a great light filled Nathaniel's eyes.

-

Fire and ice were polar opposites, yet Kitty had heard of how each would suffice for any kind of destruction. She agreed with this thought, for she knew of desire and how it could corrupt, but she also still felt the cold tendrils of hatred wrapped around her like the roots of a tree, the tree of destruction.

This tree was certainly going to get its fair share of destruction soon enough, for fire and ice had appeared all over the room.

There was a burst of fire to her left, and a creature that appeared to be made purely of darkness was now standing before her. She placed her free arm back as if to shield Nathaniel, although she doubted he really needed any protection. He had proved that he was more than competent, but still, he did not have her resilience, or even her silver pendant.

Her silver pendant.

With that same arm, she fumbled inside her shirt before feeling its familiar coldness in her hand. Taking the chain it was attached to off of her head, she thrust it at Nathaniel.

"Take this," she ordered. "It's quality silver, and should protect you."

He looked at her doubtfully. "I think you'll need this –"

"I'll be fine," she snapped. "I'm the one with the resilience, remember?"

Nathaniel sighed and nodded, and put it on hurriedly. Kitty turned back to the creature of darkness, but Bartimaeus had already engaged it, and she switched her attention elsewhere.

Ice had covered an area of the floor over from Bartimaeus and the dark spirit, and in the middle of it stood a small girl. Her fingers were covered in frost, and she was twirling her hair innocently, but Kitty could see her ferocity in her eyes. Untangling her fingers from Nathaniel's reluctantly, she rushed towards the girl, careful not to slip on the ice.

The girl made a move and Kitty dodged to the side; where she had previously been, thick tentacles of ice had shot outwards. Before the girl could recover, Kitty had taken a trainer to her head, and she was sent sprawling to the floor.

Kitty knew that she had never faced a spirit as strong as this one: the girl was surely a djinni. But still, she felt an odd sense of calm, and she knew that she could handle this.

The girl got to her feet quickly, and a beam of light was shot at Kitty. She was not able to completely dodge it, and it clipped her side, and she slid across the ice hard.

"Having trouble?" Bartimaeus called as he exchanged blows with the spirit of darkness.

"None at all, thank you!" she called back as she leapt to her feet. The girl was nowhere in sight, though.

But as soon as she tried to turn around, she felt a swift kick land on her back. She flew face-down onto the ice once more, and right as she rolled over, a fist embedded itself in the ice where she had previously lain. With a mighty pull, the girl wrenched her hand from the ground, but Kitty was on her feet once more.

The girl jumped at her, but Kitty did not back away. Instead, she too leapt in the air and grabbed the girl by the torso. They landed with a thud on the ground, but Kitty knew it hurt the spirit more than it hurt her. The girl was clawing at her with her hands, gasping desperately as Kitty's resilience hurt her. Kitty felt her body bruise all over – she couldn't take this much longer –

Suddenly, the girl burst into particles of nothing. Kitty had won.

She chanced a look over at Nathaniel. He was fighting a djinni also, but he was just conjuring a Shield whenever his opponent attacked. When the spirit got too close, he would swing the pendant at it like a weapon. Nathaniel was holding out for backup.

"Can't you help him?" she asked Bartimaeus.

"No!" The lion was now fighting two shadow creatures. "I'm quite busy! Look out!"

She ducked, and a small lynx went flying over her. It growled and another beam flew over her head, missing her by inches.

"Back, human!" cried the lynx. "I defy you!"

She paused for only a moment at the familiar words – they had been the last of Honorius the afrit. This lapse was enough for the lynx, for it sent another beam her way, this time hitting her squarely on the chest.

She lay disorientated on the ground for a few moments. A large vulture was hovering in the air above her, as if it was a message of impending doom. But the lynx roared again, and her attentions were torn from the vulture.

Kitty got to her feet as quickly as she could, but the lynx had already leapt onto her. Struggling, she finally threw it off, but it quickly regrouped and attacked once more. As she fought with it, she could feel the air crackling around her; something big was happening.

As she threw down the beast again, she heard a deafening shout.

"KITTY!"

Before she knew what had happened, she was pushed hard, skidding onto the ground. She glanced upwards, and saw immediately what had happened: the vulture, probably an afrit, had gathered itself, and a red aura had encased it. With a cry in another language, it released a scarlet torrent of pure energy down at Nathaniel, who was standing where she had been, pendant outstretched hopelessly. The lynx growled again behind him, and leapt at the torrent, and it was devoured.

She could only watch in horror as Nathaniel, complete with pendant and Shield, faced the downpour.

When it hit him, time slowed.

He fell so slowly Kitty felt that she could catch him, if only she could just move. She couldn't, though, and he hit the ground with a crash. The vulture gave a triumphant yell, and she knew that it had won.

Nathaniel… he couldn't be.

She crawled over to him hurriedly, clumsily, and put her hand on his throat.

Was that a pulse? She couldn't tell… her hands were shaking something terrible.

She placed her ear to his heart. There was no sound.

"There's no sound!" Kitty moaned desperately, grabbing at his shirt. "There has to be a beat!"

Maybe there was. Maybe she just was too panicked.

_No,_ said a rational part of her. _Nathaniel is dead. Nathaniel died for _you.

"No!" But as she felt his cold face with her hands, she knew it must be true. Nathaniel had to be dead. That blast had killed him, and what good had it done? She could've taken it…

_No… you were facing the other way. He had a Shield and the pendant._

The pendant was still intact in his limp hands.

Fate was cruel.

He had _died_ so that she could _live._ Kitty wasn't important. Nathaniel was important. He wasn't supposed to die, not so early…

Kitty didn't know why she did it, but she did anyway. Cradling his head softly in her hands, she lowered her face just enough so that her lips could brush his, but only for a moment. She pulled away, and did not know why she had, but she'd kissed him, and she held no regrets.

Standing up, she grabbed the pendant and faced spirits behind her.

"You won't take me," she cried. "I defy you!"

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **Yes, it is a different chapter than all of those before it in the fact that it switches point-of-views. I like writing like this more than sticking with one point-of-view for extended periods, and I wouldn't have changed but I had to so I could make these final four chapters work out. If you read my prologue of sorts to this, _Like Pawns, We Fall_, you'll be familiar with the switches, so it shouldn't be that drastic of a change. It's also a very tense chapter with more action (although the later chapters have more action), and I left you with a cliffhanger. You're probably all wondering how I'll get through the next three chapters without Nathaniel. Let's just say that writing the next chapter was a very fun experience.

**Next Chapter: **_The Doctor Will See You Now_


	20. The Doctor Will See You Now

This chapter is very late. Very, very late. "Ptolemy's Gate" has already come out; I've already read it. I'm very sorry.

Very sorry.

It was Murphy's Law: anything that could go wrong went wrong. I had writer's block. I wasn't able to get to my computer for a while. Et cetera, et cetera. And now this is technically AU since Book 3 is out in the UK.

But I just want you all to know that besides the use of the title "Ptolemy's Gate", this has not been influenced by Book 3. I was almost done with the next chapter when the book came out. I loved the book, but that's another subject. And to clear things up for some of you, the bit in this chapter about Disraeli was not taken from Book 3. I found that during research of William Gladstone.

**Disclaimer: **I do not, in any shape or form, own the Bartimaeus Trilogy.

**Chapter Twenty  
**The Doctor Will See You Now

"_**But time is on your side,  
It's on your side now:  
Not pushing you down and all around –  
It's no cause for concern."  
**-__**Coldplay's** "Amsterdam"_

Katherine knew that they were in trouble when the door had disappeared, and holes had formed in the walls surrounding them.

But she still began to go through Kitty's patented Mental Checklist To See If You're In Trouble, of course.

Unfamiliar setting? Check.

Odd event? Check.

Scary voices? Check.

Demons? Check.

Well, if they would've had a mysterious magician overlord and/or magical creature, then it would've been a good, old-fashioned party.

"Shit, is that an afrit?" Thomas said to her side.

"Nah," replied Yasmin, "looks more like a djinni."

Elliot nodded. "From the magic levels, it's definitely a djinni."

Sometimes Katherine wished that she could see like they did. All she saw was resilience. But then again, Kitty didn't see anything, and she got along well enough.

Kitty was special, though. At least that was what everyone always said. And Katherine had never seen a reason to disagree with everyone. Kitty _was_ special.

"You may gain access to the next room," hissed a snake-like demon in front of them.

"Oh, really?" said Morris hopefully. "That's wonderful! So, just step aside then –"

"No, foolish human!" the snake growled irritably. "Did you not hear my master? You shall have to pass a test first!"

Morris nodded in realization. "Oh, yes. That. Well, you see, I'm not so good with the battling, so maybe a science test? Or a math test? Or maybe even a game of chess?"

"Wits are important," said the snake vaguely. "But they are only one of three components that you shall be tested on."

"Damn it, would you stop speaking in riddles and rhetoric?" Elliot snapped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The snake looked at him, unperturbed. "I see you are lacking in the wits department, mud filth. But there must be one of you that can guess the three components."

"Wits and strength," said Jack simply. "And…"

"And guts," Glen finished.

"Spoken in a vulgar tongue, but doubtlessly correct." The demon looked at them distastefully.

Morris scratched the back of his head. "So you're going to test us three times on three different subjects?"

"You shall not be tested thrice, but once."

"Er… how exactly will that work out?"

"A battle," the snake said, as if the answer were so obvious the question had not been worth asking. "To win a battle, your proficiency at the three components must be greater than that of your opponents."

"Ah. I see." Morris rolled up his sleeves with a long, melodramatic sigh. "I must warn you that I was fibbing when I said I was not good at fighting. I am extremely – er, what's the word? – _proficient_ in… martial arts and stuff like that. This can only end in your demise."

The snake blinked. No one moved.

"Come on," Morris jeered tentatively. "Hit me with your best shot!"

The demon began to move towards him rapidly, and he in turn backed towards the wall.

"Oh, actually, why don't you start with Elliot? I never really did like him, anyway."

"You have challenged me, Hyatt, the scourge of the sixth sea!" roared the snake. "You cannot back away!"

Morris's face fell. "I can't? See, when I challenged you, I didn't know that. Let's settle this over a nice cup of Earl Grey, all right? I'm sure we're not all that different –"

"NO!" Hyatt reared backwards, reaching his full height. "You will die, mortal, and so shall your companions! You are not worthy to pass this test!"

"Well, damn, I thought I was worthy enough," said the technician feebly. "If I'm going to die anyway, may I ask exactly which sea is the sixth sea? Just as a reference."

Hyatt cackled. "Oh, you have nerve, magician. And for that reason you shall be the first to die."

The snake moved forwards as if to strike, but Morris had reached into his coat and in the blink of an eye a sphere was in his hand. "You see, I would rather die at a later time. Nice try, though!"

The Elemental Sphere crashed into Hyatt, sending it flying backwards. It did not seem to be injured grievously, but merely stunned, and by the time Katherine looked back Morris had disappeared.

"You shall pay!" cried Hyatt furiously.

"Ay, not from you," Glen said, a gun now in his hands. "I'll get him for you after this is all done, though."

The demon looked as if it would reply before a bullet pierced its head. It fell to the ground lifelessly, and Glen smirked.

"Silver bullets. Dead useful."

"That's nice," Katherine replied, "but I think we have bigger problems."

The other demons were now circling around them. They outnumbered the group, but if Glen could shoot down more of them with his rifle, then they had a chance. And besides Ffoukes and the absent Morris, the entire group had some sort of resilience.

"What d'you think?" called out Yasmin. "Katherine, Thomas and I could take this side, and another few could take that corner –"

"I think that we're better off just hitting anything that comes near us," Thomas responded darkly.

"Right. Good plan."

Before anyone could speak further, an imp in the guise of a horned toad had launched itself at Katherine; she dodged to the left, and it grabbed in futile at her hood. As it regained its position, she retrieved three throwing knives from her pockets. All silver, of course. Three flicks later, the toad was moaning in pain. Two had hit their target – its arms were now pinned to the ground.

"Finish it off!" Joel called out. "If we're going to pass this 'test', then we're probably going to have to defeat our opponent."

Katherine tilted her head to the toad. "Fine."

Another flick of her hand, and a knife lay embedded in the toad's head.

"I hope you're not too caught up in yourself," came a voice from somewhere above her. "Evelyn always was a fool. Too much of a gambler."

She looked up, but it was too late. Something had hit her hard in the head, and she spiraled to the ground helplessly.

"The number one rule of battle: be aware of your surroundings." Katherine looked up, only to see what looked like a suit of armor. "The number two rule: position is everything."

Before she could get to her feet the suit was running at her, and she could only roll to the side as it stuck its tremendous rapier into the stone. As soon as she had gained her footing, the suit was all ready swinging the sword again, and she ducked – a few wisps of her hair were cut off by the blade.

Kitty's voice was ringing in her head: _evaluate the situation. Check for strengths. Check for weaknesses._

The situation was that she was ducked, facing her enemy's torso, which was made entirely of metal. It definitely appeared to be strong, and intelligent, and its sword was caught in a powerful backswing – wait.

The weight and strength of the swing was its weakness. She had her opening, its defensive lapse.

Not wasting any time, she retrieved a larger silver knife from her boot, and with all of her strength heaved it into the demon.

Surprisingly, it pierced the armor with little resistance. The sword was dropped, and the suit keeled over. She didn't hesitate at all, and as quickly as she had stabbed it the first time, she had recalled her knife and sliced the demon in the head.

It too fell, dead. She allowed herself a small smile before looking for her next opponent.

The battle was waging in all areas of the room. Glen and Jack were back to back, fighting off a tight circle of demons. Jack would attack the ones that came too close with one of his many weapons, while Glen would pick them off carefully with his rifle. They were quite a team.

Others were having varied levels of success. Joel, Thomas, and Yasmin were working in tandem, and Ffoukes was helping Elliot along with his foliot. The demons were beginning to dwindle… could they actually win?

"MOVE!"

A large creature with armored skin and a great horn protruding from its tail made its way to the center of the room. Its footsteps rattled the ground around it, and Katherine could feel the vibrations shaking her bones.

"YOU WILL NOT WIN!" roared the demon furiously.

"Katherine, Thomas!" Glen bellowed. "Hold it off while we take care of the others!"

Katherine nodded, and drew three more throwing knives with her free hand. "Got it."

The demon regarded Thomas and her as mere annoyances, and whenever they got too close, it would lazily try to swat them away. Its real attention was on Glen and the others, but whenever it began to get too involved in the real battle, one of the two would distract it with a throwing knife.

"Out of my way!" growled the demon, and the two retreated, but not so far that they couldn't keep it at bay a bit longer.

"Glen!" screamed Katherine. "Hurry up!"

"Almost done!" A shot rang out across the room. "There! Now all we've got is the big fellow!"

"You will not bring down Yachodam!" the demon roared.

"Oh, we'll see about that!"

A shot hit the beast in between the eyes. "Damn you, mortal!"

A thick ball of fire burst from Yachodam's hands towards Glen, and he just barely got out of the way. The stone on which he had stood was now scorched black, and Yachodam appeared more agitated than ever.

"You will not hurt Yachodam!"

Another blast of fire shot towards the Scot, and with Jack's help he avoided it. But he did not totally escape: the side of his trousers was now burned, and he had a slight limp.

"Damn it, will someone do _something_!" cried Glen angrily.

Ffoukes's demon rose rapidly towards Yachodam, and bursts of light hit the demon's armor. More than anything, it seemed to wear down the great spirit more than actually hurt it, and it swatted Aevod away as if it was nothing with one hand.

"Is that all?" Yachodam implored dangerously as he began to move forward, positioning himself over Katherine and Thomas. "IS THAT ALL?"

"Not quite!" came a voice from above.

Before Yachodam could look up, someone had landed on his neck gracelessly. Morris, waving a mighty sword that appeared too heavy for his lean frame, was now hanging onto the demon.

"The number one rule of battle: be aware of your surroundings!" said the teen in a cheerful voice. "And this silver beauty, my friends, was used by Gladstone himself in a duel with Benjamin Disraeli –"

"Get on with it, Morris!" Thomas yelled frantically. Yachodam was beginning to raise his head.

Morris's expression soured. "Oh, all right."

With ridiculous flopping of his arms, Morris brought the blade down onto the demon's neck, and it cried out in anguish before crashing down to the ground. He jumped off at the last second, and came tumbling over to the side.

"Well," he said with an odd expression on his face, "that was fun."

-

Spirits were more numerous than Kitty had realized. The two she'd defeated were just the tip of the iceberg. But there was one she wanted to destroy now: the vulture.

"Defy me, eh?" the spirit laughed. "I am Induil the Wise, the predator of all, and you are my prey!"

"Haven't seen many djinn talk like that in a while," Bartimaeus commented quietly, having just defeated the two foliots he'd been fighting. "He must have spent some time around here during the Middle Ages."

But before he could continue his insight onto the vulture, Induil had dove at her. She leapt out of the way and it hit the ground with a crash, but it recovered quickly. A blue beam shot out from its mouth, but Bartimaeus blocked that with little effort. Induil cried out angrily and rose into the air once more.

"What's he doing?" Kitty asked hurriedly.

Bartimaeus observed their enemy warily as it circled above them. "Probably planning its next move. But I think we're going to have to disrupt its plans if we're going to win this without losing a limb or two."

The lion's tail whipped around, and a thick black ball hurtled towards Induil – the spirit was just barely able to maneuver itself out of the way as the ball exploded, but at the very least it appeared rattled.

"Wasn't really hoping to hit with that Detonation," Bartimaeus sighed. "At least it bought us a little time."

Induil was circling faster and faster now; Bartimaeus started to say something before a chuckle behind him interrupted them.

"Still alive and well, I see. This will be our final fight, demon."

A man in a black tuxedo was standing behind him. Thick boots covered his feet and shins.

"Oh, hello Mr. Mercenary," said Bartimaeus. His voice was bitter. "I agree with that last part. This time I'm just going to get it over with quickly."

"So you say." The man threw Kitty a lazy look. "But I digress. I am more interested in killing you at the moment than I am in her, and Induil seems like it should be able to take care of such a _runt_. Shall we take this elsewhere?"

Bartimaeus bowed slightly. "Of course."

Before Kitty could protest, the two had already vanished, and were dueling somewhere across the room. But that was just the least of her problems: Induil was circling faster, and faster, and faster…

"Die, mortal!" shrieked the spirit. "Die!"

It began a tremendous nosedive again, albeit this time the very air around it seemed to be crackling. Kitty thought fast – it didn't seem she would have time to get out of the way, and even if she did she would still probably be hit. This attack was far more powerful than the last.

So Kitty did the only rational thing that came to mind.

She jumped.

It called for some tricky timing, but with a good deal of luck she was able to hook her arms around the bird's neck. It squawked, and she felt her muscles burn as she struggled to hold on. It had pulled out of its dive and was now flying around frantically.

"Burns!" it squealed. "It burns! Horrible, nasty, filthy human!"

Kitty would have very much liked to tell Induil that she was hurting, too, but she knew if she could just hold on that maybe she would have a chance.

"Off, filth!" Induil flung to and fro, sending beams of light in every direction. "Off!"

But Kitty would not let go. She could feel its feathers begin to singe at her touch. It was working.

"Off!" it repeated. "Off!"

Kitty had no intention of getting off, however, and it realized this. It's flinging became even more frantic, until she began to feel queasy.

And just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. There was a pop and Induil had burst, sending Kitty flying across the room.

She landed on her back on something hard and cold: stone. Compared to the pain of the impact, the burn in her muscles was now nothing. Every part of her back ached, and she struggled to stand up.

"Ah, Ms. Jones. You _are_ a persistent one, aren't you?"

Makepeace was leaning against the railing casually, looking at her with a small degree of interest.

"Yes," Kitty said coldly. "It's one of my better qualities."

"That and your uncanny knack for surviving." Makepeace coughed. "But we have some time before my Archway is activated. Would you like to have a chat? I'm dreadfully bored."

Kitty blinked. "Ptolemy's Gate."

"What?"

"Ptolemy's Gate," said Kitty. "It's what Bartimaeus called the Archway."

"Oh." Makepeace shrugged. "I suppose there are a few names for it."

She said nothing.

"I'm surprised, actually," stated the magician. "You haven't attacked me yet."

"I want to hear it all explained."

"Very well, then," Makepeace said happily. He pushed back the cloak slightly so that she could see a pistol. "And do not try to attack me with your fists or knives. You are not magic so my useful little artifacts would not help me, but I have a few protective spells and weapons of my own. You would be dead within seconds."

Kitty nodded. "Fine. But tell me everything."

Sighing, the playwright ran his hands through his hair. "If I seem repetitive, I apologize profusely. I do not know how much you are aware of, so I will be somewhat meticulous."

"Go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

"Well, it all started around five years ago," said Makepeace. "I had long been yearning for more power, but I was distasteful of the magician society. I wanted to start over, do thing my way. I had stopped practicing magic much and instead focused on my writing, occasionally summoning demons for inspiration or amusement. I am very proficient in my summonings and enchantments, obviously, but I do not do them very often unless I have good reason. And I found my good reason by chance when researching material for my next play in the outskirts of an Egyptian village."

"The townsfolk spoke of an ancient legend when I asked them for stories and such. According to the legend, the rulers of Egypt in around 100 BC had created an Archway, a weapon to use against enemies in war. The stories varied: some were so crazy and fantastic that I will not waste your time with them, but in several stories an Egyptian boy of an Assyrian father was mentioned. I was intrigued, of course. Could this be my tool to gain power?"

Makepeace sighed, and explosions could be heard in the background. "In the following year, I supported a young magician named Simon Lovelace in his unsuccessful coup d'etat. It was an ingenious plan, and I helped in various parts of it, but Lovelace's failure due to the intervention of Nathaniel and Bartimaeus in no way ruined my plans. He was just a sideshow, really, although the Amulet of Samarkand he used in his plans I discovered to be most essential, as I had presumed. I did not try to steal it from the vaults of the government, for I deemed it safe there, and after all, I would not need it for quite a while. The Amulet protects its user from any kind of magical attack, so you can see its worth to my plan."

"Yes," said Kitty quietly.

"You're a smart girl." Makepeace leaned further against the railing. "But after Lovelace's failure, I focused on this Archway once more. After much studying, I discovered that it _was_ a weapon: it was some sort of summoning device that would cause demons to attack and destroy everything in sight. Yet that very next year I partook in another coup, except this one was much more important for various reasons. Two items I desired were involved: the Staff and the Cloak of State. I very much wanted the Staff, for I suspected that it could destroy my Archway, and the Cloak of State would just be very handy to have in my possession."

He shook his head. "But alas, that coup too failed, again thanks to your friend Nathaniel and yourself. But my goal was reached, albeit in a different way: the Staff was locked away in Gladstone's secret vaults, and thus the danger to my plans was averted. The Cloak was retrieved by your old friend, and I killed him after I received it, for I could not use too many loose ends."

"But Hopkins," Kitty stated loudly. "What does he have to do with all of this?"

"Oh yes, Hopkins. I met him before he joined Pennyfeather. A very greedy young lad, he was, but very useful. I needed someone to supply the Resistance with information, to guide them in the path I had chosen, and also to help me in my research. I felt that I should meet you with the details of the items I desired personally, to avoid suspicion. I knew, of course, that Honorius the afrit resided in Gladstone's tomb, and I really did not want to deal with him, but I felt that at the very least you would do some damage to him, or at least draw him out, as you did. The Resistance was growing too impatient and eager for my tastes, so I had to get rid of all of you somehow. Gladstone's tomb was just very convenient."

"You're a bastard." Kitty clenched her fists. How could anyone be so sick?

"I thought it might distress you," said Makepeace mystically, reminding her of Hopkins. "But before you attack me, as you are so close to doing, there is more to explain. And do not worry, there is not much time left before you meet your end. We have spent quite some time going over this."

He breathed out eagerly, and tapped his fingers against the stone. "I learned of the function of these two floors during my quest for the Archway of Anubis, or Ptolemy's Gate. The sixth floor contains several of Gladstone's more important possessions, like a museum. Gladstone took the Cloak and Staff to his grave only because he was very protective of them, but the Staff is quite safe there now – the British government had to move it here recently according to Gladstone's provisions. I made sure of that. If you had been paying attention in the room prior to this one, then you would've noticed that there were a few displays on the walls. I believe one showed the sword used by Gladstone against Disraeli, and there were a few others of lesser consequence."

"And this floor?"

"This was the floor where Gladstone did his summoning, and work," replied Makepeace. "Its theater-like interior makes it ideal for summoning, and the sunlight from this window is helpful with specialized pentacles and such. It's a one-way window, and on the outside is nothing more than a stone wall, but still serves its purpose. So you can see why I chose this room to set up the Archway. It's just very… convenient."

"But the Archway," Kitty continued. "What about it?"

"Yes, that." Makepeace grinned. "There is a library in a government building – I'll not specify which, just in case I feel the need to use it – that is filled with magic and preservatives. The texts are ancient, and often very useful, and I've used this library three times before. Once, to study the Amulet of Samarkand, once to study Gladstone, and once to study the Archway. I had to steal the books all three times, and they were very helpful. The Archway book was very difficult to find, and the title of it was only known by a few. I was able to track down one of those few and then steal the book."

He paused to catch his breath. "The Archway of Anubis was made by the rulers of Egypt by sacrificing many powerful demons to create a structure that could potentially destroy an entire civilization. A human would need to be sacrificed to unite the entities inside the Archway – thus, the two worlds would be connected. It was tricky magic, and inside the Archway there are thick jewel veins, which actually contain the entities, and they all meet in the ruby at the top. This strong magic makes it almost indestructible, and using it can be catastrophic."

"Why didn't they use it?"

"Why?" Makepeace laughed. "They realized what it would do! They tested it on Atlantis, for Atlantis was an enemy of Egypt at that point and was secluded from the rest of the world. Not many knew of Atlantis's existence; the magician Plato had talked of it almost two hundred years before but supposedly it had vanished almost nine thousand years before his time! It was a myth to most, but the most powerful men in the world knew of it and its great armies and advanced technology. Egypt considered it a threat, and so the Archway was tested on Atlantis."

Kitty bit her lip. "What happened?"

"The demons went out of control, destroying anything and everything. The rulers realized what they had done."

"Which was?"

"They had created the ultimate weapon for the destruction of the Earth." Makepeace smiled wryly. "The Archway tears demons from the Other Place violently, and they destroy anything in their path. That is why it is so dangerous, and why I have sought it for so long. It is the greatest weapon the world has ever seen. That ruby is the greatest jewel the world has ever seen. And I discovered where it was, how to use it, and how to steal it."

"You… we'll stop you!" Kitty exclaimed hopelessly, knowing that Makepeace seemed quite invincible. He only shook his head.

"No, Ms. Jones, you can't. I'm unstoppable now."

-

Morris didn't even hear Katherine sigh resignedly at him. Instead, he was focused on the far wall, the same wall that Nathaniel had walked through.

A hole had appeared in the wall. Two doors were now visible, opened wide.

"It's opened," he said hoarsely. "The door."

Heads whipped around all across the room at his words, and several cries of surprise could be heard throughout the area.

"We won?" Ffoukes squeaked doubtfully, twisting his hands nervously. "How? Isn't there another monster to fight? No invisible demon with blades of fire? No golem?"

Glen observed the group thoughtfully. "No. Not yet."

Ffoukes made a sound that Morris did not recognize; it was somewhere between a squeal and a whimper.

"Come on, then!" Thomas commanded. "What're we waiting for? There's work to be done!"

"Yes!" Elliot jumped out and flailed his arms mockingly. "Let's go, guys! Off we go to die!"

Jack looked at him darkly, arms crossed over his chest. "I'd rather die a fighter than live a coward."

"Oh, Jack, that's so virtuous." Elliot acted as if swooning. "I'll make sure to leave a few flowers by your grave."

"Whatever," Morris said exasperatedly, throwing up his hands and stalking off toward the hole. "If I'm going to die, I want it to be nice and quick. And I definitely don't want my last memory to be of some lunatics quarreling!"

He reached the door before spinning around on his heel and glaring at the group.

"Are you guys coming or what?"

There was a murmuring of approval, and all of them, even Elliot and Ffoukes, began to come after him. He didn't wait for them, and instead went right through the entrance, leaving the others to follow in his wake.

His first impression of the next room was that it looked oddly like an auditorium: very spacious and large. Sounds bounced off the walls spectacularly, and every few seconds a pillar of flame would burst into his view. On second thought, he decided he probably shouldn't have gone in first. Battle wasn't his thing.

The cold hilt of the sword in his hand – the very sword that William Gladstone himself had used, no less – comforted him. Its mere presence was enough to dissemble his worries, for if this sword had been good enough for the most powerful ruler that Britain had ever known, then it was definitely good enough for Morris Fischer, CSI-in-training. He didn't particularly agree with what Gladstone had represented, but there was a great level of respect. Everyone respected Gladstone in a way. Everyone feared him, even though he was dead. It was the natural order of things.

A beam coming over his right shoulder and crashing into the wall to his side reminded him that it probably wasn't the best time to reflect on politics.

And so he charged, rapier flying in all directions, into the fray of battle. He had no real target, and instead took a wild jab at anything in sight, or out of sight for that matter. Morris thought he might've even nicked the side of a spirit a few times or two, although it may have just been a wall. The confidence the sword gave him was very encouraging, but as he almost lost his footing during an awkward backswing, he realized that just charging in blindly and attacking anything and everything was not the best course of action. He could almost hear Nathaniel's voice in his head: _step back and analyze the situation_.

Morris, for what might have been the first time in his life, stopped in his tracks and listened to instructions without second thoughts.

There was no shortage of spirits, that was for sure. It was pure chaos: his allies had now run headfirst into the thick of it and were now fighting furiously. A lion – Bartimaeus – was fighting a man who appeared to be extremely fast. A vulture was squawking above them, and someone was hanging onto it desperately: Kitty.

But where was Nathaniel?

As his eyes glazed over the stone ground, he got his answer.

Rushing forward, Morris motioned for someone to come to his aid quickly. Thomas and Glen obliged, and he heard their footsteps against the floor as he knelt to the ground to examine Nathaniel's limp body. He tried to search for a pulse, but his hands were shaking far too dangerously. Could he actually be dead? Death didn't happen. At least, that's how it always seemed when he had been back in the lab.

He was hit with sudden imagery: a middle-aged man giving a class a lecture, and then a teenaged boy slowly going over procedure with his new trainee. Morris knew how to do this. He had learned it in school and Nathaniel had taught him during some of his training.

_Detach yourself. Clear your mind. Pace your breathing. Don't think._

His fingers steadied, and he felt Nathaniel's neck as calmly as he could.

"Anything?" Glen's voice rang out.

Morris withdrew his hand in a professional manner.

"He's alive." Retrieving a latex glove from his breast pocket, he fit it onto his right hand neatly and pulled something that looked like a thermometer from the same pocket. He pulled Nathaniel's skin back with two gloved fingers and stuck the instrument carefully into his mouth before leveling his eyes with the markers on the side. "Grade A hit by a powerful demon. There's no telling how he survived it; even a strong Shield wouldn't help much against this. I'm guessing he had some kind of assistance."

"Kitty?" Thomas questioned.

Morris shrugged. "Unlikely. She seems to be doing fine right now, and even if she had been hit by this then she'd be in pretty bad shape."

"Kitty has a pure silver pendant," stated Glen, rubbing his chin. "Do you think he could've used it?"

"It's a possibility." Morris's matter-of-fact tone calmed not only the other two, but also himself. Like the sword now lying against his knee, it encouraged him. "For now, we can only speculate. But he's alive, although he's not in the best of conditions. He needs aid now."

Thomas ran his hand through his hair anxiously. "What're we supposed to do?"

"I… I need to think."

What could help Nathaniel now? Morris was losing his focus, he was losing his resolve: seeing his boss in such a condition was rattling him too badly.

_Detach yourself._

Nathaniel would know this. Morris just needed to put himself in Nathaniel's shoes.

That was it. A Resuscitator.

"_As I don't have a Resuscitator on hand –"_

"_A what?"_

"_A Resuscitator. It's a long, pipe-like thing that you point into someone's chest and it revives them instantaneously. They're pretty hard to come by, though."_

It was slightly ironic that Nathaniel's exchange with Kitty and Bartimaeus would be so helpful, but oddly fitting. The question was: where could he find a Resuscitator?

"_Well, another thing is the fact that there's a medical bay on every other floor. You know, the even-numbered ones."_

That was it. The sixth floor.

"We've got to get to the sixth floor," Morris said instantly.

Thomas shot him a doubtful look. "Er… how?"

"I dunno. There's got to be a way from the previous room!"

He ran off again, Glen and Thomas scurrying behind him, and was thankful that the door had not yet closed. Maybe the person behind this wanted an opening to the rest of the world, a way to spread terror. Or maybe he was just preoccupied.

Whatever the answer was, Morris burst through the hole. He shot the two open doors a last look before scanning his eyes across the room. There had to be a staircase. There had to be.

"There!" announced Glen. "By that suit of armor!"

Off they dashed once more to the direction the Scot had been pointing. Morris threw himself into the tunnel-like staircase and descending it rapidly, two steps at a time. It was much longer than he had expected it to be, and after what seemed like eternity, he was standing in a new room.

"The medical bay!" he cried. "Where is the medical bay? Nathaniel said there'd be one on the sixth floor!"

Thomas arched an eyebrow. "Nathaniel?"

"Never mind that," Glen said hurriedly, rolling his sleeves up. "Does this room look extremely white and clean to anyone else, or is it just me?"

Morris's eyes widened. Of course. "We're _in_ the medical bay!" He leapt up into the air and danced around ridiculously as a celebration, grabbing Glen and hugging him tightly. "I could kiss you right now! But I won't, because your beard is thick and dirty, and also you're a Scot."

"Get off, you magician bastard," grunted the older man, shoving Morris away. The technician brushed off his clothes imperiously.

"Don't want to get any germs, after all. God knows what diseases you Scots have on you." He sighed. "We're looking for a long pipe thinger. Keep your eyes sharp."

The group split up around the large area and began raking meticulously through various cabinets for this "thinger". Morris had half of his body in a lower drawer when he heard Thomas yell out.

"Found it!" Morris removed his head from the drawer, only to see the teenager waving around what looked like an extended inhaler ebulliently. "At least, I think I did."

He nodded. "Yep, I think that's it."

"Speaking of findings," Glen called out loudly, "I think I may have found something you all might want to have a look at."

The two hurried over to him, and their jaws dropped instantly at the sight. In front of them lay an extensive museum: items of all shapes and sizes were neatly displayed and catalogued all over the room.

"A shrine to Gladstone," muttered Morris in awe as he rubbed his eyes nervously. "Cocky little bugger, he was."

"Hey, look, it's a staff!" Thomas exclaimed. His finger was jabbing at a display right in front of the group. "Isn't that important or something?"

Morris's eyes widened. "The Staff!" He rushed forward, stopping right in front of the display. "This – this weapon was used to destroy the most powerful empire in the world! It's borderline sacred!"

"Take it," growled Glen simply. "We could use all the help we can get."

The technician chuckled with anxiety as he cracked his knuckles. "Oh, no, not me. I couldn't activate something of this power. I'm horrible with spells. I've got a tiny little imp at my command, but I think something may have destroyed him. Maybe he got run over by a car."

"Come on," Thomas urged him on, the image reminding him of his school days. "Take it! If you can't use it, then Mandrake can."

Morris gave the Staff one last glance before closing his eyes and grabbing it quickly. His eyes still shut, he thrust it at them. "Take it! I don't even want to be near it!"

"No." Glen coughed. "You forgot your sword upstairs, anyway. Until we revive your friend you're going to need to hold onto it for protection."

Morris opened his eyes cautiously and looked at the Staff as if it would burn him if it made contact with the pupils. It looked rather ordinary, but even he could feel the raw power pulsating from it. The sword was nothing compared to it, although he thought he much preferred something simpler, less terrifying.

"All right," he agreed. "Let's go."

The members of the Resistance nodded and the odd trio began their short trek back to the battle site. The stairs presented no challenge, and neither did the following entrance hall-like room, but it was a race against time – or maybe time was their ally. If they could just hold out for long enough, then surely their opportunity would come.

They burst into the auditorium room and hurried to where Nathaniel lay. Morris placed the Staff gently onto the ground, and Thomas handed him the Resuscitator, which he merely looked at doubtfully.

"What're you doing?" questioned the younger boy. "Use it!"

"I'm supposed to point it at his chest. I'm thinking."

Thomas tapped his foot on the ground impatiently. "Here, just give it to me. I'll do it!"

"No, a command word has to be spoken," said Morris dully. He looked at the side of the instrument and grinned. "Of course. It's on the side in Sumerian."

He said a word that rolled delicately off his tongue, careful to point the instrument at Nathaniel's chest, and waited.

Bulbs of energy emerged from the tip of the Resuscitator and landed on Nathaniel's body. A sheet of light began to cover him, and in a few seconds, he gave a violent spasm before shooting upward instantly.

"Kitty!" he gasped.

Morris blinked. "Not quite. Morris, actually."

"Kitty!" repeated Nathaniel, clutching his chest painfully. "Where's Kitty?"

"No idea. Last I saw of her, she was hanging onto some vulture."

"Vulture!" Nathaniel lurched forward dangerously, but Morris held him back with his hand.

"Steady there, tiger," he said calmly. "Don't have a heart attack on me. I'm shoddy with healing magic, and will probably end up giving you a seizure if I have to heal you on my own."

Someone tapped his shoulder from behind, and Morris turned. It was Glen. "I think Kitty's up there, on that platform. Someone else is up there, but I can't see their face very well."

"_Makepeace!"_ Nathaniel groaned.

"Makepeace?" Morris said doubtfully. "The playwright? That geek's the psycho behind all of this? Are you serious?"

Nathaniel ignored him. "Resuscitator?" he asked, gesturing towards the instrument. He seemed to be calming down finally, which was definitely a good thing.

"Yes. For once, I listened!" It was a light stab at humor, and Nathaniel smiled, much to Morris's relief. "Helped in the end, I think. Though don't you go telling anyone! I've got a reputation to think about."

"Sure." Nathaniel scratched the back of his head and sighed. "What're we to do now? I don't have Kitty's pendant anymore, and I haven't a clue where Bartimaeus is. I have no protection."

"That's a problem."

Nathaniel eyed the sword that was resting against his leg. "Can I borrow that?" He looked at it again. "Is that the sword that Gladstone –"

"Yes," replied Morris. "But I don't think you want that. I'll stick with that."

"But I need something!"

Morris grinned, and grabbed the Staff from behind him with one hand. He rested it on one knee, as if to present it to his fellow magician.

"Don't worry. I've got a much better toy for you to play with."

-

The last time the mercenary and I had met, neither of us had escaped unscathed. Well, I suppose he could have, as I didn't really stick around to check, but I'd say it was about even.

Of course, then I'd had help, even from such a wimp as Nathaniel. This time, I was alone.

No problem. I'm Bartimaeus, after all.

But there was a problem with that, apparently.

This guy was just as powerful as I was.

"You got away last time," he said, his fingers jiggling at his hip anxiously. "I do not think that you will do the same this time around."

"Ah, _you _were the lucky one last time." I whipped my tail into the air lazily. "I was just holding back. Didn't want to distress the kid, you see. That would've been unprofessional."

"Of course." In less than a second, he had drawn two silver discs and was now twirling them nonchalantly in his hands. "I must beg of you not to hold back anymore. I would not want to defeat someone who wasn't even trying."

"Alright. No holding back? Got it."

He smirked. "Good. Let it begin."

The two discs came hurling at me at amazing speeds, and I crouched low to avoid them. He didn't stop, though, and I had to jump high into the air to dodge the next batch. Several more zipped at me as I fell to the ground, and I twisted my body in the most awkward position to try to get out of their way, although one cut right through the hair on the end of my tail.

"Not bad," commented the mercenary. "But it is inconsequential. You won't last long."

Another silver disc flew at me, but I was already gone: where the lion had once stood, a snake was now slithering towards the mercenary. It wrapped around him, and he growled.

"Off!" I would not let go, even though his resilience burned me, too. With luck, I would outlast him and kill him before he could kill me.

He let out a primal roar of rage and threw his head at my scales. His teeth dug into my essence, and I let out a gasp of pain and loosened my hold around him, allowing the mercenary to escape.

"Silver teeth?" I moaned. "Are you kidding me?"

He smiled a metallic smile and drew a blade from his hip. Moving towards me slowly, he made a move as if to swing at me, but I changed into a mouse and the blade barely missed my tail.

As I scurried away and out of sight, I heard him yell after me. "Come back and fight, coward!"

You see, I was disinclined to do such at that point in time. I had no clue how I was going to approach an enemy that was resilient to me in every way, and such a fast one as well. I hid behind a stone pedestal, and no matter how he screamed, I did not come out.

It was a tricky situation, no doubt about it. As he groaned and hollered, I thought deeply, but nothing came to me. It seemed more and more hopeless by the second, and my essence was aching terribly. I did not know how I could possibly win, and it all was very discouraging. To think that a mere human would defeat me, Bartimaeus, was embarrassing. I hated my luck.

A few minutes after I went into hiding, I noticed a strange absence of noise from my adversary. As I said, he had been making quite a racket in his search for me, but now everything was eerily silent. Bells went off in my head, for silence was never a good thing.

I realized this one second too late, and before I could react a large explosion occurred to the right of me. With a squeal of panic (courageous panic, mind you), I rushed from my hiding spot, only to have to stop in my tracks as a projectile soared by me. I looked towards the mercenary to see what was causing this, only to see that he had what looked like a bazooka, but lighter: a modern Detonation stick.

It was all very clear to me now. He could not see me, so he was just going to shoot blindly and hope that he hit me. It wasn't a half-bad plan, but it did have one weakness: if I could just reach him, then the Detonation stick would be useless, and his advantage would be eliminated.

So I began crawling towards him, rolling out of the way of Detonations as I went. He had begun yelling again at this point to go along with the whole death and destruction theme.

I hesitated for a moment, and a Detonation hit me straight on.

The mouse was sent flying, and it crashed into the wall with great force. The mercenary laughed triumphantly and rushed towards it, Detonation stick dropped behind him.

I got up slowly, and although my mind was reeling from the blow, it was still working. I knew my present form wasn't quick enough to combat this monster of a man; I reverted once more to the form of a serpent. Before I had even gathered myself, I rushed at him and whipped him with the end of my massive body. He was thrown to the ground, but he regained his footing with speed thanks to his blasted seven-league boots.

As I slithered around him, dodging his projectiles, a thought came to me. It was a risky plan, and might not work at all, but I had to try.

He flung another disc at me, which I easily avoided, and his miscue allowed me a valuable window of opportunity. I thrashed at him once more, and he fell to the ground. I knew he would stand quickly, so it was imperative that I make the best of the opening.

Naturally, the mercenary had used his hand to both brace his fall and help himself stand. I lunged at the hand and sunk my fangs into it – he shrieked with pain, and I grimaced, too. Human flesh did not taste good, and flesh of a resilient human hurt me and tasted horribly. I made sure my fangs were lodged firmly into the stone before I yanked back as hard as I could.

It hurt quite a bit, and I imagine I was in just as much pain as he was. I had ripped my two fangs out of my mouth with that tug, and although it injured me, he was now pinned to the ground by my newly dislodged pearly whites.

In my pain and triumph, I turned my back on him for one second, but that was all the time he needed. Before I could even move, a silver disk caught me right on the edge of my body. I bit back (well, not literally) a scream and turned to him again.

He was grimacing yet sneering at the same time, a feat I commend him on most profusely. "Had enough, demon? We are both injured. Surely you will give up now."

"No," I said. One last, desperate plan had come into my head, and I began banging the edge of my form onto the stone. The disc pushed further into my body, and severed even more flesh. "Not yet."

"That's a shame," he replied, almost sincerely. "It seems I will have to finish you off after all."

I banged the disc on the floor again, and it tore more of my body apart. Not much kept it lodged in me now. "You're confident, aren't you?"

"Not overly so. I have earned my confidence." He withdrew another of those vile circles of silver from his clothes, and I thrust my disc into the ground again. "Now, it is time for you to die!"

He threw his weapon at me, and I moved out of the way hurriedly. It sliced through the edge of my essence, but it was not a major injury. Before he could attack me again, I swung the back end of my body around, and the disc that had been lodged in my flesh dislodged from its position within me and hurled towards him. It was one of my better ideas, looking back: I had made the incision deeper so as to make it easier to throw the damned thing.

It flew at him, and he tried to move out of the way, but my fangs held him in place. He hadn't a chance.

I looked away as the inevitable occurred, and all I heard was a slick swish and a thud as a body hit the ground. I grimaced, and became a lion once more.

Exhausted, I collapsed on the ground. I had won.

Yet I had only won the battle – the war had just begun.

-

When Nathaniel first gained consciousness, it was a blurred state of awareness. His thoughts were choppy and irregular, although several concepts were predominant: Kitty and Makepeace.

He began to become more aware of his surroundings as time passed, and when Morris presented him with Gladstone's Staff of Office, he woke right up in a jiffy.

"_What?"_ he breathed. "Are you joking?"

"No." Morris's eyes were glinting dangerously. "I'm dead serious. You can handle this thing. I can't. You might as well use it."

"I've _tried_ to use it before, Morris!" Nathaniel exclaimed. He cradled his forehead with his hand wearily. "It backfired. I messed up."

Morris shrugged. "Practice makes perfect, right?"

"I think you can handle it," grunted Glen, his arms crossed. "From what I've heard, you're quite the magician."

"I'm glad for your vote of confidence, but I'm not sure you understand! This isn't some enchantment, or regular old spell. This is Gladstone's Staff, the most powerful weapon in all of Europe." He laughed bitterly. "Well, second-most powerful now."

Morris looked at him, bemused. "Huh?"

"Long story," he sighed. "Basically, that Archway over there is going to open up shortly and tear a ton of angry spirits from the Other Place. They're going to go on a rampage and destroy anything in sight, and Makepeace, using the Amulet of Samarkand and Cloak of State to shield himself, will demand power from the world's leaders. It's a very plebian approach at taking over the world, but it looks like it's going to work."

"Like hell it will!" Thomas piped up indignantly as he bounced on the balls of his feet with excitement. "We're going to win this fight if they keep underestimating us!"

"I hope so, but things are not looking so good at the moment." Nathaniel shook his head and looked at the Archway, a sinking feeling in his chest. They had come so far. They couldn't lose now. "I need to get to Kitty and Makepeace. If we bring down Makepeace, then maybe we can destroy the Archway. He activated it, obviously, so if we can kill him, then the activation might be cancelled out. It's technical, but with this sort of thing there's usually a strong bond between the activator and the artifact. That's why the Staff backfired on me when I misused it."

A blank look came on Morris's face. "Yeah, you lost me. But whatever, go find Makepeace. What do you want us to do?"

Nathaniel frowned. "I don't really know. I suppose that it would be best if you, Morris, went to help Bartimaeus and send him to help me against Makepeace, but Thomas and Glen, you both have some amount of resilience so I need you to fight and hold off these spirits. I know I'm asking a lot, but I fear it's the only course of action available to us anymore."

"We'll do it," Glen said instantly. Thomas nodded his approval next to him. "We were born fighters, Mr. Mandrake. If you asked us to stand back and watch, then you'd have a problem."

"Good." Nathaniel got shakily to his feet; the same leg that had bothered him after the duel with Farrar was now weak again. "I'll be going then. Wish me luck."

"Wait!" Morris thrust the Staff at him, pleading look in his eyes. "You have to take it! It's our best shot, and at least it will gain you some power over Makepeace. Everyone fears it! And I'm sure you can handle it. We believe that you can wield it, Nat."

Nathaniel stared him down intently, disregarding the remark about his name. It was a great temptation, yet a great fear of his: should he take the Staff and use it, when it could backfire again?

"Fine," he agreed, taking the weapon in both hands. Confidence filled him, and he knew that he held a better chance now than he had before. "Makepeace himself said he'd wanted it out of the picture, so there's no doubt it will be useful."

"Good," Morris sighed in relief. "Good luck, then. I'm sure you'll need it."

"Yeah." Nathaniel gave them one last glance before turning and, using the Staff as a crutch, limping towards the stairs leading up to the platform. "I'm going to need more than luck."

As he slowly ascended the stairs, a sense of serenity overtook him. If he was going to meet an end, it would surely be during this encounter, but that didn't matter anymore. His fate was in his hands now, not in Makepeace's, and that was a positive thought.

He heard voices and stopped suddenly, crouching low on the stairs.

"The Archway of Anubis," came a man's voice, "was made by the rulers of Egypt by sacrificing many powerful demons to create a structure that could potentially destroy an entire civilization. A human would need to be sacrificed to unite the entities inside the Archway – thus, the two worlds would be connected. It was tricky magic, and inside the Archway there are thick jewel veins, which actually contain the entities, and they all meet in the ruby at the top. This strong magic makes it almost indestructible, and using it can be catastrophic."

Nathaniel knew the voice: it was Makepeace. He did not reveal himself just yet, however, for he was curious about the nature of this Archway. Bartimaeus called it Ptolemy's Gate, but besides that, he did not know much, and this was insight that could help him in the end.

"Why didn't they use it?" The voice was Kitty's. He let out a breath of relief. She was okay.

"Why?" The man, Makepeace, laughed a chilling laugh, and Nathaniel shivered involuntarily. "They realized what it would do! They tested it on Atlantis, for Atlantis was an enemy of Egypt at that point and was secluded from the rest of the world. Not many knew of Atlantis's existence; the magician Plato had talked of it almost two hundred years before but supposedly it had vanished almost nine thousand years before his time! It was a myth to most, but the most powerful men in the world knew of it and its great armies and advanced technology. Egypt considered it a threat, and so the Archway was tested on Atlantis."

So _that_ was what had happened to Atlantis. It had always been a point of interest to Nathaniel. "What happened?"

"The demons went out of control, destroying anything and everything. The rulers realized what they had done."

And that was what the Archway did.

"Which was?"

"They had created the ultimate weapon for the destruction of the Earth. The Archway tears demons from the Other Place violently, and they destroy anything in their path. That is why it is so dangerous, and why I have sought it for so long. It is the greatest weapon the world has ever seen. That ruby is the greatest jewel the world has ever seen. And I discovered where it was, how to use it, and how to steal it."

Nathaniel had heard all of this before, and it was nothing new. Makepeace was just reveling in it all now. But the jewel, that was something to think about. Could it be a weakness?

"You… we'll stop you!" Kitty exclaimed. Nathaniel could hear the hopelessness in her voice.

"No, Ms. Jones, you can't. I'm unstoppable now."

At this moment, Nathaniel stood and made his way up the final few steps. Kitty was standing helplessly, gawking in his direction, and did not know what to say. Makepeace did not even see him, and Nathaniel merely smiled at the situation, no matter how desperate.

"That is where we disagree. You're not unstoppable. At least, not yet."

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **A fairly decent chapter overall, I'd say. Morris was loads of fun to write in this chapter, as was Bartimaeus. And I'm sure I'm going to have lots of fun - _lots_ of fun - reading your reviews considering the bit about Nathaniel.

**Next Chapter: **_Endgame._

"Without warning, a deep roar much like that of a hurricane filled the room. Kitty twitched; Makepeace jumped forward, his eyes rolling upwards in his head. A slight glow began to surround him: hints of red and violet, with black spots here and there. He laughed, but it was not his voice. It sounded demonic, as if the devil himself had risen from the marble."


	21. Endgame

Yeah, it's been a long wait, I know. But I was writing the final chapter, and wanted to make sure that it wraps everything up nicely, which I think it does. The next update should be in about a week - that'll give me plenty of time to edit.

Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **(Insert standard disclaimer here.)

**Chapter Twenty-One  
**Endgame

"_**This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper."  
**__**- T.S. Eliot**_

Thomas didn't know what exactly he was supposed to do, except for fight. Really, who exactly was he supposed to fight? It wasn't like he could go up and tap a demon on the shoulder and politely say, "Excuse me, would it be okay if I used my natural resilience against you until you exploded?"

But like Glen had said, he was a fighter by birth. He wouldn't shy away from the battle. He would fight, and fight well, and bring down as many demons as he could. After this battle, others would be able to look back and marvel at Thomas and his fighting spirit, and how he had brought down so many opponents.

He'd show all of them, Elliot included, that age didn't matter. Age was just a piece of information. A person's true character was independent from their age. He could help. He wasn't useless.

"Keep a steady eye," Glen advised him in a low voice. He grabbed Thomas's shoulder with his hand to reassure him. "We're going to fight eventually."

"I know," Thomas replied quietly. Glen, although he could be very feisty, wasn't bad at all. He acted like a father, or maybe even like a favorite uncle, to the members of the Resistance, but he never looked down on them. Sometimes he would make a scathing remark, but he never truly meant it. He knew what they were all capable of.

"Should be fun, eh?"

Thomas sighed. "At least you have more resilience than me."

"You can see demons, _and_ you have resilience."

"I'd rather have your abilities now."

"Don't underestimate yourself," said Glen gruffly as his knuckles whitened on Thomas's shoulder. Demons were swirling around them; he was just waiting for an opportunity to engage in battle. "When you start to second-guess, you're already losing control."

"Sure," Thomas sighed. "Whatever you say."

Glen shook his head somberly. "There're two types of people in this world, Thomas: those who think they can and those who think they can't."

"Which group is right?" the boy found himself asking.

Glen offered him a pained smile. "They both are."

A blast took a portion of the wall behind them out, and the pub owner growled.

"Looks like we've got ourselves some fun."

He burst forward towards a large jaguar demon. The side of his trousers where Yachodam had hit him was still scorched, and he had a limp, but he had surprising speed. Thomas found himself staring uselessly in the older man's wake.

"Yes," he agreed quietly as he followed into the fray of the battle. "Fun."

Before he could even comprehend the situation, Glen and the jaguar had disappeared. The area was unrecognizable; time was traveling at an entirely different speed. Another second went by, and he felt something throw him to the ground, hard.

Two skeletons were standing over him, mocking him with their graceful movements. They cackled, and he tried to get to his feet, but he was knocked down again, and then they, too, vanished.

Warily, he braced himself with his hands and stood up. His footing was shaky, his vision blurred; his world was dancing around him. A blur of white came across his vision, and he stumbled out of the way just before one of the skeletons rocketed past gleefully.

"Ah, human!" it cried. "You dodged that one, you did! Not this one! Oh, not this one!"

He shook his head and stepped to the side again, although this time the skeleton clipped him in the shoulder. His vision was returning, but still he could only see one of his enemies. Thomas did not have to be a genius to realize that this was a bad sign.

Only moments later, he was thrown into the stone from behind amid peals of laughter.

"Funny human!" The other skeleton had returned. "You must be learning, for there is much learning to do!"

He whirled upwards, and threw his legs wildly into the air. He made brief contact with one of his adversaries but did no real damage, and before he knew what was happening one of them had disappeared again.

"Round and round we go, human!" said the visible skeleton, standing casually some distance away from him. It cringed, and as he watched, horrified, thick bones emerged from its back: wings. "Do humans like to fly? I wonder… Let's see!"

Thomas gave it no chance to take off, and instead took it by surprise by hurtling towards it and latching onto its bones with his bare hands. It growled and flung the two of them into the air, but he did not let go.

It cursed him under its breath. "Bad human! Your essence burns mine!"

Thomas clung to it even more determinedly. Maybe he would be able to hold on long enough…

"No, human! We shall see who dies first! Your time is running out!"

A bony hand grabbed his head and yanked him from the demon. Apparently, its ally had returned, creepy smile still in place. The skeleton he had held onto so desperately took hold of his head also, and he now hung only by his neck near the ceiling of the room, which was looking further and further from the floor. His neck burned, and he knew it wouldn't be long before his spine eventually broke or fractured.

"We tease you slowly," murmured one of the spirits to him lowly. "Death is coming. Do you not see your future?"

He stealthily groped the inside of his sweater for something, anything that could help him. His fingers made contact with something cold and smooth, and he smiled slightly.

"You smile!" The skeleton seemed delighted. "Do you see it yet?"

Grabbing one of the items in each hand, he outstretched his arms above him and chuckled weakly.

"Yes," he replied. "I do."

Bringing his arms crashing down on the demons, he crushed the Elemental Orbs in his hands and knew no more.

-

Morris Fischer did not know what to do, and this made him very irritated.

Nathaniel had been very plain in his instructions: go find Bartimaeus, send him along his way to help, and the job was done. Then he would probably be expected to fight, but would anyone notice if he hid from the battle?

With his luck, yes.

But the real problem was how to get to Bartimaeus. He was all the way across the room, across the battlefield. Morris had no resilience. He was vulnerable.

And so he did as he always did in tough situations: he charged ahead and improvised.

Grabbing the sword, he made his way along the edges of the room, perilously close to the Archway. He could feel his bones shake as he passed it, and the blade turned cold in his hands. He shuddered and moved on, once more feeling warmth in his body. His blood was properly working once more, and he didn't need an explanation to know that the Archway was something terrible and powerful. The feeling of emptiness was all that he required.

He was not moving along very quickly, but he figured that anything worth doing was worth doing well, or in his case it was not worth losing a hand trying to go fetch the blasted djinni.

An unlucky mouler strayed across his path, and he didn't think twice about cutting it in half with the sword. As he moved along, Morris realized that he was already gaining a killer mentality, and it bothered him. He was no murderer. He solved murders. He prevented murders.

Oh, how ironic it was.

This fight was tearing them all apart from the inside, it was tearing apart the ties that bonded them together. Could they truly be victorious if they themselves were corrupted by this? Could they be victorious if the cause they labored for vanished from their sight somewhere along the way?

Was this cause even worth fighting for?

No one knew, he supposed. And maybe the answers weren't worth knowing. Maybe he didn't want to know the answers.

If only they all could see him now, reflective and somber. It'd probably send a few of them into shock.

Morris knew it was a very good thing that they could not see him now.

Another mouler lay in his path, and he only gave it one last glance before disposing of it, too. Was killing spirits truly murdering? Was it murder to protect yourself?

By British law, it was no crime to kill a spirit without a master. But then again, it _was_ a crime to kill something that had not attacked the killer first.

The judicial system was royally screwed, he also decided, for as he had demonstrated, those two laws completely contradicted each other. They'd have to work on the laws when they were done with this "saving the world" business.

He stopped in his tracks. It seemed that all of his contemplation had made the time pass faster. That or it wasn't Bartimaeus lying in front of him, but some other spirit that had conveniently taken the guise of a red lion.

Although Morris doubted the latter, it was possible. Anything was possible.

"Hello, Morris," said the lion dully. "Having fun?"

At this point, Morris knew it was probably safe to say that the lion was indeed Bartimaeus.

"Yes, loads." He fingered the sword nervously. "And you?"

Bartimaeus managed to shrug from his position. "Eh, so-so. This fellow over here was somewhat annoying."

He gestured to a headless body next to him. Its hand was nailed to the ground with two rather bloody fangs, and only his extensive training and experience in the area kept Morris from vomiting right then and there.

"He is – was, rather – a mercenary," the djinni continued. "Very persistent little bugger, too, and those boots he has on are very bothersome. He also has this knack for getting injured but bouncing back from it easily, so I figured that I might as well take off his head and be done with it."

"Resilience?" Morris poked the body with his foot, just noticing that the head was laying a few meters away, and a silver disc coated with scarlet lay just beyond that.

"More than I've ever seen before," Bartimaeus replied. "I set him on fire before, a few years ago. I don't think that deterred him much, though."

The technician contorted his face into a rueful smile. "Somehow I think this may just stop him in his tracks."

"I hope so." The lion licked its paws nonchalantly. "And what're you here for?"

"Oh, that. Nathaniel sent me to tell you to be on your way and up those stairs to help him out. Seems that he's going to take on Makepeace. Wants to stop the trouble at its source, or something of the sort."

"He's alive?"

"And kicking," Morris confirmed. "Although he got hit pretty hard. Grade A, right at him."

"Stop trying to confuse me with your medical jargon," snapped Bartimaeus in return as he got to his feet. "So, he's alive, eh? That's good. It might've been disadvantageous to lose him so early on in the game."

The magician looked at him with distaste. "The game? This is just a game?"

"Yes." Bartimaeus was not apologetic; rather, he stood tall and proud. "That's all it ever is."

He cast no look backwards as he walked away, into the middle of it all and to what Morris knew would decide the fate of an entire world. If only he could, for just a few minutes, have Bartimaeus's courage, or ignorance of death if that's what it truly was. The resolve that he was unstoppable, invincible, for only a moment would be enough. He did not want to fight anymore. He just wished that the fighting would stop, that he could go back to his lowly job where everyone thought him odd and the pay wasn't very good at all. Morris was not a warrior. He was a coward, and he did not see the problem with this.

But was it possible for cowards to become warriors, if only fleetingly, in times of crisis?

Morris doubted it.

Yet then again, anything was possible.

Gripping Gladstone's sword tightly, he began a slow walk into the battle. No spirit noticed him, and he took in the sights of it all with awe.

Glen was battling a jaguar ferociously, and Jack was battling what looked like two imps nearby. The others were scattered about all over the area, and all were still standing. That, at least, was a good sign.

That is, until a loud explosion occurred high above his head, and one limp body fell to the ground somewhere ahead of him. Thomas. Elemental Orbs, from the look of it.

As Morris looked upwards, he noticed there were only particles now in the place that he had fallen from. He had taken out his adversary, but at what cost?

So much for the drinking. It didn't look like Thomas would even live to drink, legally or illegally.

Footsteps pounded near him, and he spun around anxiously.

"Hello, magician," came a low voice. A robed figure stood in front of him, a staff in its left hand. To Morris's chagrin, it looked eerily like the Grim Reaper. "Have you come to battle? Or do you seek to hide?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, thank you very much," Morris said icily.

"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. But your fate is inextricably tied with the decision." It made a dramatic, sweeping movement with its free arm. "Do you run and hide, or do you stand your ground and battle?"

"Does it matter? It's not like you're going to let me run, anyway."

The spirit laughed. "That is where you are wrong. I am not as barbarian as my comrades. It is just murder to kill one who has not attacked you. My orders were to protect, not to destroy. And if you run, that is of no consequence to me. I will still protect, but you will be out of the picture."

Morris looked at it suspiciously. "So you're honestly giving me a choice?"

"Yes. Your destiny lies in your hands. Embrace it or throw it away: it is your choice."

He could run. He could run, and he wouldn't die. Well, not now. He could hide somewhere, somewhere safe, and never be heard from again, or at least not for a little while.

But could he betray his friends? Morris was not courageous, but it was not courage that bound him to them. It was understanding. Could he leave that behind?

"What the hell, I'm a gambling man," he responded, bracing the sword in front of him like an invitation to fight. "Show me what you've got, you morbid old bastard."

"So you embrace it." The spirit tapped its staff on the ground. "It is old tradition to know the name of your adversary before battle, as a respect. I am Immeritus, guardian of the lair. What is your title?"

Morris grinned. "Morris Fischer, lab technician. Also known as the guy who has to make sense of the shit that the CSI's bring in."

"So, Morris Fischer," Immeritus repeated. It nodded approvingly. "Let us do battle."

Its movements were graceful, almost dance-like, as it made its way towards him. He lashed out with his sword but its staff deflected it easily before knocking him upside the head and into the air.

His skull felt compressed, and all he could think of as he hit the ground was the staff. It must have been magical, or powerful, or just very hard, to have caused such pain to him. Immeritus took advantage of his lapse in concentration and leapt forward at him. He tried to move out of the way, but the staff came down on his leg, and he cried out in pain.

"Conceal your anguish!" commanded the spirit, almost angrily. "Never let your opponent see your weaknesses!"

It brought up its weapon again, preparing to strike, but Morris swung his sword upwards at it and it rolled out of the way. The move gave him enough time to gain his ground again, but Immeritus was shaking its head somberly.

"Already you have lost," it stated slowly. "You have not tried to cripple me, or destroy me. You have given me time to concentrate, and that will be your downfall."

"Er… what?"

It said nothing, and quickly Morris realized what it was doing. It was focusing, planning out one last move, and he could do nothing about it. He was almost ten meters away; it was not possible to reach it in time.

_Think, Morris, think. Improvise._

His eyes narrowed into thin slits as he gripped the sword and looked to it.

_Cut your losses_.

He charged forward, sword dragging in the air behind him. The distance was decreasing rapidly, but it was too late. Immeritus was outstretching its hands, gathering its energy.

_Cut your losses. Sacrifice a pawn for the king._

Just as a beam of energy began to form at its palms, he lunged at it with the sword. The sword cut right through it and it gasped in surprise, but the beam exploded in its hands around his arm, and he screamed in agony.

Morris fell to the ground, shrieking, and writhed on the stone wildly. Tears were streaming down his face, stinging his eyes, and what felt like fire was running up the arm he had wielded the sword with. When he finally gained the strength to open his eyelids, what he saw nearly made him pass out.

Where his hand had previously been, a stump was all that remained. It was a clean wound, blackened and scarlet, and blood dripped onto the cold stone.

Finally it all overtook him and he began to lose consciousness. Black enveloped around him, and he did not know what had happened, albeit for what he had seen in one last glance towards his adversary.

Immeritus and Gladstone's sword were no more.

-

When I had called this all a game, Morris had been surprised – angered, even. I did not mean it as an insult, but rather as a concession of our opponent's abilities at deception and manipulation. He was using us all in his plot, and Nathaniel was doing his best to counter it. It was a battle of strategy, of wit, and thus far it was a stalemate. Even such, it was a bit miraculous that Makepeace had not won already, and now it would be in our hands, on our terms.

I ascended the steps slowly, one by one, until finally a conversation came into earshot.

"No, Ms. Jones, you can't. I'm unstoppable now."

That would be Makepeace. Cocky little bugger.

"That is where we disagree. You're not unstoppable. At least, not yet."

And that would be Nat – from the sounds of it he had come from the opposite stairway. Seeing how the drama was high at the moment, I knew it was the perfect time to make my entrance.

"Yes, what he said!" I exclaimed, bursting onto the platform. I imagine Makepeace gave me an odd look, something akin to loathing and shock and maybe even ridicule. That cloak really was becoming an inconvenience to me – I only wished I could see him. Meanwhile, Kitty was staring at Nathaniel, a look of shock on her face. Happy shock, mind you. After all, she'd kissed the kid only minutes earlier. "Oh, sorry. Did I break the tension?"

"Djinn," Makepeace sighed. "And it _was_ such a wonderful moment, also. No matter. I shall see to it that you are taken care of."

Someone, Makepeace probably, snapped his fingers and whistled loudly.

"Faquarl!"

Much to my annoyance, my old enemy – and ally – appeared in a puff of smoke, tentacles (well, on the seventh plane) and all. Useless dramatics.

"You called?" Irritation laced his voice.

"Busy Bartimaeus for the time-being." The blob that represented Makepeace gestured to Nathaniel and Kitty. "I must deal with these two little rascals."

"Yes, Master." I could tell it was straining him to address Makepeace as such, but it was best to suck up, just in case he did win. Swallow your pride, as they say.

I waved a paw at Faquarl congenially. "So, old friend, how's life treating you? Everything still intact, I see? None of your little suckers have gone missing."

"I am not so old yet, Bartimaeus," he replied dully. His present guise was an odd one: he appeared to be Simon Lovelace, actually. "Hopefully I shall live to see the day when they do fall off."

"I'm not so sure about that. I've seen it happen to old Urugul. Not pretty at all, let me tell you."

Faquarl was not impressed with my limitless expanse of knowledge. "Cut the chit-chat, Bartimaeus. I have an order to carry out. Move along before I must use force on you."

"Oh, save the big words," I said dryly, taking a few steps back and taunting him with my tail. "We both know that's just talk, but I'll move along anyway to spare the controversy."

"Good," he stated shortly. He did not seem to be in the mood for talking, even by his standards. If I wasn't careful he might try to pollute my mind with propaganda speaking of a spirit revolution.

I descended the steps carefully, Faquarl matching my strides to the left. My mind was already working at full speed – if I could just get past him, I could still help the two dolts. The only problem was the actual getting past him part.

"The boy," said Faquarl monotonously, "is he your master?"

"That idiot?" I jerked my head towards Nathaniel. "Sure is."

"Idiot?" asked the savvy old djinni. "I was under the impression that he had some talent to get this far. Makepeace is very precise in his movements; to even challenge him is a great achievement."

"Oh, I was just speaking generally," I replied. "Because as you know, all magicians are idiots. But he's probably one of the better ones. He might even be brilliant, compared to the rest of his lot."

"Hm." The man, Lovelace, picked at his teeth uninterestedly. "Have you served him before?"

I nodded. "Twice."

"Ouch."

"I don't get it. I annoy him out of his wits yet I've still become one of his personal favorites."

"Maybe he thinks you're efficient."

"Of course he does. That's just a given."

"Still as arrogant as ever," stated Faquarl, looking at me and shaking his head. "You know what they say: 'pride cometh before the fall.'"

I laughed bitterly. "It's already the end of the world as we know it, Faquarl. I'd say I'm pretty much falling as it is. Pride doesn't worry me much at the moment."

"You're getting lazy, Bartimaeus. You're overlooking weaknesses, due to your arrogance. Someday you'll meet your end, mark my words."

Although I had never really considered his advice of the utmost importance, seeing as he was insane, his words bothered me. I decided to change the subject instead of treading into uncomfortable territories.

"So… an Archway, eh? Why not a door?"

He gave me an odd glance. "You and I both know what that is, how it was made. You were there, and I did my research."

"Yes," I said darkly, "you're right. Ptolemy's Gate is not a foreign subject to me, and with your obsession with rebellion, it's only natural that you would have tried to learn all about it."

"You know me too well."

I clicked my paws on the ground anxiously. "I've only known you for hundreds of years. By the by, aren't you supposed to be destroying me or something of the sort?"

"No," he responded simply. The question did not perturb him in the least. "My orders were to keep you busy. I've kept you busy so far."

"And an excellent job you've done, old chum!" I exclaimed. "But if you would be so kind, I really should be going. I've wasted too much time here, and I think my master requires my service elsewhere."

"If you do attempt to leave, though, I will have to detain you. And neither of us want a fight, Bartimaeus."

"Oh, really? I've already dispatched of one old acquaintance today; why not make it two?"

"Don't be an idiot, Bartimaeus!" Faquarl's voice was distinct and sharp. "We both know that we're in no shape to fight each other! Look at us! All of this constant abuse and use has worn us down to the bone. I can barely even feel my essence anymore, and don't pretend that everything's okay when it isn't! How long will it be until your essence finally fails you? If we fought, it would only result in both of our deaths. Stop being foolish!"

I stopped in my tracks. Such an outburst from Faquarl was odd, but he'd been acting odd during our brief encounter. Could he have finally given up to the magicians, to slavery?

"Ah, you know me," I said, dismissing him briskly. "I think with my fists, not my head."

"It doesn't even matter anymore," he replied coldly.

"Er… what?"

He chuckled. "Do you not feel it? The air, the earth – they're contorting. Everything's changing."

Imagine my shock when I realized that he was correct. There was a tingling feeling in the air, and my essence felt blotchy, as if it weren't truly even there. I felt strong, invincible for once, almost as if I was home. A deep noise filled the room, as if a tempest had formed only meters away from us.

"I hope your master has a plan," he commented wryly, twisting his hands. "Makepeace has already initiated his."

I didn't answer him, for I was thinking the very same thing. Makepeace had obviously activated the Archway – the Gate. Something was happening.

"It's begun," Faquarl said.

"What has?"

He smirked.

"Like you said, Bartimaeus… the end of the world."

-

When Jack had been very young, too young to remember much, he had been sent to live with his uncle in the city. His uncle never spoke of why Jack had been sent off, and Jack never asked. It was the natural order of things.

Glen had always been there. He and Jack's uncle had been friends since their schoolyard days, and it never seemed odd to Jack that he would go into Glen's pub even though he could not yet ride a bike, let alone drink. The men in the bar were always very nice to him, or too drunk to notice him. He supposed that the long hours spent in the tavern had toughened him up, made him more of an individual. But that was just guesswork.

It was just like Glen to run headfirst into battle, straight at one of the more horrifying demons. It wasn't an act of pride – well, partially, but Glen was only trying to help. It was the best way he knew how to aid them. He'd want to face the largest ones, the most dangerous ones, if only to save the younger members from them.

Jack engaged an imp, which had taken on the guise of a kitten, all the while keeping an eye on his old friend. Glen knew what he was doing, and had a gun with silver bullets if worst came to worst. He'd be fine.

The imp lunged at him and he dodged to the side easily. It was no real challenge, yet resilience wasn't his strong suit, so it was safer to fight a weaker demon. He flicked his knife out from his boot and waved it at the kitten menacingly. It mewed in response.

He could hear the grunts of his comrades all around – Elliot had just let out a rather primitive roar, but that was just like Elliot. All bark, no bite.

The imp jumped into the air, and he rolled to the side. It bounced off of the ground and back onto its feet, only to be met by his trainer. It went flying, at least ten meters or so, and for once he was glad that his uncle had forced him to play football as a youngster. He supposed he was a bit morbid in his enjoyment of sending a cute little kitten sailing into the air, but it was pretty funny. And that damned imp deserved it.

The jaguar Glen was fighting growled, and the old man growled back. Jack grinned. That was Glen for you. Show the bastards what they showed you. Give them a taste of their own medicine. Shove their own medicine down their throats.

The imp was now scurrying back towards him, and he rolled his eyes as he heard its whimpers. Pathetic. Did it not have pride?

"Come on, you arse," he called out teasingly. "Show me what you're made of!"

It leapt into the air, and he slashed at it with his knife. It cried out and fell to the ground. He had not made direct contact with it, and had merely sliced off a few hairs on the tip of its tail. What a coward.

He shot forward with his knife once more, but the kitten jumped to the side. Twirling around, he hurled his knife at it, and it embedded itself into the imp's body.

"There we go!" he said approvingly. The imp gulped. "Serves you right for being such a scaredy-cat. Pun intended."

He retrieved his blade from the imp's body and watched as it disintegrated into nothing. It was a job well done, all in all. He'd taken no hits at all from the demon. Perfect.

"Oy, Joel!" he called out. "Try to top that one! I defeated it without even getting hit!"

"What were you fighting, a mouler?" came the droning reply from across the room.

"Of course not! An imp!"

"Sure you were," said Joel as he ducked a Detonation.

Jack laughed and whipped around, only to stop in his tracks.

Glen was fighting ferociously, of course, and was shooting his gun at the jaguar. It dodged the bullets, though, and as it drew closer a look of hopelessness came upon the Scot's face. He threw down the gun and began pummeling it with his fists, but it was of no use. Within seconds, the demon had impaled him with a claw through his chest.

All Jack remembered was that it took Glen an eternity to fall.

He rushed forward automatically towards his old companion. The jaguar loped lazily to the side, very pleased with its victory, cooing sweetly in Jack's ears. A pool of blood surrounded Glen, but Jack knelt right in it, not caring about the inherent messiness. He cradled the bush of gray and red in his hands and felt his eyes get hot and salty – Glen couldn't have lost, not now, not ever.

"Go," Glen said weakly. "Go."

Jack shook his head furiously, trying to apply pressure to the wound. It had gone straight through him though, and he could not heal it. "No, I'm staying."

"Go!" Glen sounded very weak now. Jack doubted he would speak again.

"No," he whispered. "We're all in this together, right? All for one and one for all."

Glen's eyes began to glass over and he felt warm tears stream down his cheeks. Whipping around, he faced the jaguar, which was slowly approaching him.

"You won't take me," he said firmly. "Not yet."

"Out of the way, human." The demon laughed. "I have other business."

"NO!" Jack threw his body forward, knife erect in front of him, but the beast knocked him to the side with minimal effort.

"Weakling. Do not try to fight me."

He struggled to stand, but he was knocked down again. Slick teeth sank into his shoulders, and claws scraped at his back. It was over. He had lost.

"Sleep, human. Sleep."

He pulled himself over to Glen's body, bleeding profusely, as the jaguar shifted behind him. Covering the man's torso with his arm, he lay his head on the ground wearily.

"I'm sorry, Glen," he whispered. "I tried. I really did."

With that, life began to slip away from him, and the darkness came to him all of a sudden.

He could still hear the jaguar's cackles as death crept upon him.

-

"Busy Bartimaeus for the time-being. I must deal with these two little rascals."

"Yes, Master." Faquarl moved to the side, and began conversing quietly with Bartimaeus. Makepeace sighed.

"At least they're out of the way now," he muttered. His eyes flashed menacingly. "Destiny can now be fulfilled, between humans, as it ought to be. Spirits have no part in this."

"Why not?" Kitty said fiercely, next to Nathaniel. "Are they not good enough?"

The playwright laughed. "So young, so foolish. Ms. Jones, you probably don't realize the wickedness of demons, but as I was raised as a magician, I am fully aware of their evil craft. And I am sure Nathaniel has been educated in this respect."

Nathaniel didn't look at Kitty – he knew he'd do something stupid if he did. It was true, he had been raised to hate demons, and the event in Underwood's office when he was six was prominent in his mind.

"I was," he replied slowly. "But I don't think it's right. After all, commoners are raised to think that Gladstone was god-like when he certainly wasn't. In fact, all of us were."

"I suspected that you might already be rebelling against your fate." Makepeace looked at him regretfully. "We could have been a great team, you and I. But you're too caught up in your foolish ideals to realize that none of it really matters. One group is meant to conquer. It is just the natural order of things. And what better group to rule than magicians? We are the only group capable of such."

"You're wrong," Nathaniel said hoarsely. "Dead wrong."

"You might be right," Makepeace admitted off-handedly, to his surprise. "I don't like calling myself a magician anymore. It's too demeaning. I've risen far above that already; now I am surely something entirely different. I do not know what I am, but you are right. Magicians aren't meant to rule. I am."

"You're sick, you know that?" Kitty's voice was hot with anger.

"All lies in the eyes of the beholder, Ms. Jones," said Makepeace. "Do you not see how I have already taught you in the natural balance? I've known this all along, that magicians were never meant to rule. I just wanted to make sure you got the point. Aren't you somewhat happy? Those you hate will no longer reign over this world."

Nathaniel watched with interest as Kitty glared at her nemesis fiercely. "I don't hate magicians."

"Just some of them, eh?" Makepeace sneered. "Well, I'm sorry, doll, but life doesn't always let you pick-and-choose. You've got to figure it out for yourself, as I have done. I've done it all, so brilliantly, too, if I do say so myself. I've discovered the Trinity."

Nathaniel's eyes widened suspiciously. What was the old man talking about now? "The Trinity?"

"The Trinity." Makepeace fingered the Amulet absentmindedly. "The three groups: the magicians, the commoners, and the demons. The three groups, united to serve to the greater cause, the greater being."

"As in you," Kitty spat.

"I was not always sure of it, I confess. But now it seems evident that I _am_ the greater cause. I am life, death, and everything that makes up this universe. I have discovered the secrets of existence, and thus I have become the Alpha and the Omega."

"Maybe you're right." Nathaniel stared ahead with grim determination – as insane as Makepeace was, he had alluded to several facts that Nathaniel did accept. "There is a greater cause, isn't there? There are secrets of existence, of life and death. There is an Alpha, an Omega, but you're not it."

Makepeace looked at him with distaste. "Youth. In your arrogance you have refused to accept the truth."

"If this is all that is true, then maybe I just don't believe the truth."

"And thus it is evident that you will meet your downfall shortly, for when you do not embrace the truth, you embrace nothing."

Nathaniel smirked. "Who says I have to embrace anything to succeed?"

"I do," Makepeace responded, flapping the Cloak around him. "And I am all that matters. As I have already said, I am life and death. I am existence."

"You're wrong," Kitty said, her voice shockingly resolute. The firmness in her voice made Nathaniel shiver, and for a brief moment, he felt strong again. "You're never right."

"Ms. Jones, I am right. Are you blinded by your insolence? I have figured out everything, I have almost transcended mortality. You cannot challenge me."

"I don't get how you did it," Nathaniel said suddenly. Makepeace looked at him quizzically. "How you manipulated everything, everyone. It doesn't add up."

"Oh, it was easy." Crashes could be heard behind them. "It was all too simple to convince Duvall that Lovelace was a bit too eager for Duvall's sake, so, as you may have heard, Duvall blocked his ascension up the ladder. I helped plant the seed of revolution in Lovelace. It was nothing too difficult."

"And the glass pentacle? The golem? It was all your idea?"

Makepeace rapped his fingers on the railing impatiently. "Of course, stupid boy! Creativity is my forte, after all. Do you really think Lovelace could have come up with something such as that on his own? Who do you think prompted Duvall to use the golem's eye from Lovelace's collection? It was all my idea, nitwit!" He breathed out sharply. "Sorry, there. Almost lost my cool."

Suddenly, something struck Nathaniel – an idea. "Was the person sacrificed a magician or commoner?"

"Magician. A prince, I believe."

"But this Trinity… only two of the factions are represented."

"Of course!" Makepeace exclaimed. "Only two factions _needed_ to be represented! One faction from the Other Place, one faction from this world. Thus, the two worlds were connected. But what you fail to realize is that the Trinity is ambiguous; it cannot be defined."

Kitty's eyes narrowed. "Ambiguous?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" the man snapped. It was obvious that he was getting anxious. "The Trinity applies to many things – three is, after all, a magically powerful number. In fact, there is another proposed Trinity that could have helped this Archway become even more powerful."

"What?" Nathaniel asked curiously.

"The Trinity of the three worlds of existence."

"But…" Nathaniel trailed off. Nothing made any sense anymore. "There are only two worlds!"

"That is what your books tell you!" Makepeace hopped up from the railing and began pacing around the platform, his shoes making an annoying, tapping noise as they hit the stone. "Those are the two physically proven worlds of existence, but some – many, actually – believe there is a third. The world of those that have surmounted life itself."

"As in… the land of the dead?"

"Heaven?" Kitty said, eyes distant and far.

"And Hell, too, if that's what you believe," Makepeace replied. "It's the land of the dead, and the divine. It's the land of the omnipotent – but more importantly, it's the land of balance. If our world and the Other Place were the only two that existed, one of them should eventually overpower the other, destroy it. This other world – Heaven, Hell, or what philosophers refer to it as, Endworld – keeps everything balanced. Well, more like all of the worlds keep each other balanced. Each has its distinct characteristics and powers; it's a system of checks and balances."

"When one side grows too strong the other two join to keep it in check," Nathaniel stated bluntly. Strangely, it all made sense. He'd never really contemplated the existence of Heaven, only that he believed to some degree that it _did _exist. "One can never become more powerful than the other two."

"Exactly." Makepeace shook his head and sighed sadly. "If only there had been a way to integrate Endworld into the Archway. Imagine the power! But it is rather difficult to capture those that are no longer confined to mortality, so I guess I can forgive the architects for this missed opportunity."

His head shot up, and his eyes glimmered with confidence. "But after this, I shall discover the secrets of Endworld. I've already discovered the secrets of our world and the Other Place; I'm already divine. It's only a matter of time before I find the final strain, the final connection."

Nathaniel did not hear all of what he had said, for his eyes were following Kitty. She was moving stealthily towards Makepeace, who had finally stopped pacing. A knife was gripped tightly in her hand. If only she could inch a little closer…

"It will be marvelous," he whispered, with glassy eyes. The Amulet shone on his neck brightly, and Nathaniel remembered with relief that it only shielded against magical attacks. "Truly a glorious day!"

She was so close now… only a meter away… the knife was raised…

Without warning, a deep roar much like that of a hurricane filled the room. Kitty twitched; Makepeace jumped forward, his eyes rolling upwards in his head. A slight glow began to surround him: hints of red and violet, with blacks spots here and there. He laughed, but it was not his voice. It sounded demonic, as if the devil himself had risen from the marble.

"Demon, human," shouted the seemingly possessed man with a voice like thunder, "consecrate this land! Let the barrier be ripped open, let the wound bleed – let the spirits flood this world, let the blood of the Other Place scourge the cradle of humanity!"

"Oh, bloody hell," Kitty groaned as she ducked close to Nathaniel. Wind was howling all about them, and at this moment he knew that the Archway's activation had begun.

Nathaniel swore loudly. "The bastard! What're we to do now? It's too late to just kill him and hope that the bond will be broken! The activation's already begun!"

He felt her nudge closer as an imp flew overhead, screeching for mercy. He did not protest her closeness. Rather, it made him feel secure, strong.

"It's simple, right?" She was not panicking. Her voice was firm and unwavering. "We go after the Archway."

"Easier said than done." Nathaniel meant it, but he found it was very hard to argue with her for some odd reason. Thus, his words lacked much conviction.

"Nobody said it was going to be easy," she agreed. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked at Makepeace thoughtfully. He silently wondered how she could keep her elegance no matter the situation, without trying. She looked nothing like a commoner, if her clothing hadn't betrayed her. She carried herself with a predisposed serenity, and he secretly envied her.

"I forgot to say that I'm glad you made it through that shot from the vulture," she said, not looking at him. Surprisingly, her voice lost a little of its strength. "And thanks. I would've been done for if you wouldn't have… you know, taken the blunt of it."

"Don't mention it." He cracked a smile. "You deserved it."

"I thought you were dead," she stated quickly. Her voice had raised an octave, and she coughed. "I was pretty shocked when you showed up here, you know, as I'm sure you could tell. But really… I'm – I'm happy that you're not – you know, dead." She cleared her throat. "How..?"

"Morris broke into the medical bay of the vaults below us," Nathaniel responded. Her sudden weakness caught him off-guard, and he, too, felt his voice swerving out of control. "Found a Resuscitator and revived me. Glen and Jack helped, too. I need to thank them. And most importantly, he brought me this… the Staff of Gladstone."

It was smoother than he remembered it, and as his fingers traced it he felt his energy returning. This was the weapon that William Gladstone himself had used to shape an entire empire – with it, Nathaniel could surely save that empire.

Of course, he'd need some help. But he had Kitty, and Bartimaeus, and the rest of them.

He had all the help he needed.

"Watch my back," he muttered to Kitty. He stopped in his tracks, knowing there was one last thing that needed to be done. He turned back. "And just in case… I wanted you to know that – that no matter what happens, you're in my good books. We're all fugitives now, after all."

She smiled. "Well, you're not so horrible either, Nathaniel."

He stood for a few seconds, just looking at her, before turning away and continuing down the steps. She followed behind him, to his relief. Her presence comforted him, and he knew that he couldn't do this without her. They were a team.

As he rounded the corner, the Archway came in view. It stood, tall and foreboding, with thick gusts of wind swirling around it. Bolts of electricity crackled in the air. One hit the Staff, only to be absorbed.

Nathaniel took in a deep breath, going over the orders in his head. He was interrupted by Kitty, though.

"We've got trouble," she called hurriedly. He glanced backwards.

"You bet you've got trouble." Quentin Makepeace faced them with a manic grin. His voice had not reverted to its normal state, and instead his demonic tone remained. "Don't even try to hit me with that," he said, noticing that Nathaniel had raised the Staff. "You know that the Amulet will just absorb it. And besides, you only have a matter of moments before its activation is complete, and my demon army comes to this world."

"Kitty," stated Nathaniel through gritted teeth, "give me a few seconds. I'll take care of the Archway."

She nodded. "You got it."

He turned back to the Arch, full of silent hope that Kitty could hold off Makepeace for just a few seconds. Makepeace's growls could be heard behind him, and then a thud followed by a grunt. Kitty had most likely just kicked him onto his back.

Leaning forward, he aimed the staff at the center jewel: Makepeace had said it was the source of power for the weapon. Mumbled words, words of protection, came out of his mouth. As he said them, he realized what he'd already knew.

This wouldn't work. The Staff wasn't strong enough.

He needed extra strength, extra firepower. He needed a source of strength powerful enough to give the Staff just that extra boost it needed.

"Hurry up!" The shout was Kitty's. "I can't hold him for much longer, Nathaniel!"

His eyes snapped wide.

_Nathaniel._

A source of strength.

As he finished the last protective clause, he knew what he must do. The Staff was gaining its energy and preparing to fire, but at the last second, one last word came out of his mouth.

"Nathaniel!"

While the words of command had been barely above a whisper, he shouted his name loudly for all to hear. He was willing it to be strong, to come through.

A scarlet orb of light appeared a few centimeters above the top of the Staff.

"Nathaniel," he repeated softly, more to himself than to the tool.

A blade of energy, scythe-like in appearance, shot out from the tip of Gladstone's Staff. Nathaniel braced himself against the backfire; his trainers scraped the ground noisily. The scythe grew closer to the Archway. It cut through the wind, through the electricity.

Like lightning, it struck directly on the jewel.

The wind stopped. Demons and humans alike halted their battles. No more energy emanated from the Archway. Everything grew dark.

Without prior warning, a great, invisible force pushed outward from the Archway. There was a deafening roar, and the Arch glowed. Light trickled out from cracks in the stone. Nathaniel watched this all wearily from his position leaning against the Staff.

One last crack appeared, right through the middle of the jewel.

The Archway burst.

And then the whole world came crashing down around him.

-

Kitty saw it clearly. Even Makepeace had stopped in his tracks.

The Archway of Anubis, Ptolemy's Gate, broke into a million little pieces, light glimmering from its core. A thick cut was in its place where the barriers between two worlds had been severed. In a few moments, it shut, and all hell broke loose.

Nathaniel fell limp onto the stone floor. Her heart leapt up into her throat… he couldn't be dead, not again…

Behind her, Makepeace shrieked.

She spun around, only to see him clutching at his face and moaning. His voice seemed to have mixed between regularity and its demon-like form.

"No," he was crying, "no! It can't have ripped… Do not take me! I have no bond! I have no bond! I have no –"

Another shriek. His vertebrae had cracked, much like a car backfiring. An aura of green surrounded him, and finally he collided with the cold stone of the floor. Blood was oozing from his mouth; he was quite dead.

But that was didn't matter to Kitty. She had other things to worry about.

Where the Archway had stood, river-like seams in the floor were making their way across the room, slithering to a central point in the middle of the stone. Kitty stared in disbelief, before shivering in realization.

With another crack, a large hole appeared in the middle of the floor.

The hole was widening rapidly, out to the edge of the seams. Nathaniel was only meters away – beneath the hole in this floor, holes had successively appeared in the same spot on the floors below. It was a chasm all the way to the bottom of the Tower, and Nathaniel would fall into it.

She did not waste time. Sprinting across, she took a leap over a particularly wide breach in the stone and rolled on her back. Nathaniel was close now, but so was the chasm. She crawled forward frantically; he was slipping.

With great effort, she lunged forward and reached out her hand, grabbing desperately. She grabbed onto Nathaniel's wrist, and felt herself wrench forward towards the hole. She grabbed at a splinter of rock, but it was weak. She'd only have seconds before it broke.

Kitty stretched out as far as she could and wrapped her ankles around one of the pillars holding the platform up, the platform on which she had confronted Makepeace. More secure, she grimaced in pain: her arm was burning with the strain of it all.

"Bartimaeus," she yelled desperately. "Bartimaeus!"

"A bit busy!" The djinni was busy dodging the frantic outpour of spirits away from the chasm. Ducking and weaving, he finally arrived at her foot. "Need some help? It's a good thing that Faquarl made his exit as soon as Makepeace died. Apparently, these moulers weren't summoned by him, so they weren't dismissed by his death. Interesting."

"Help me!"

Bartimaeus made forward as if to help, but he stopped all of a sudden.

"It's gone," he said distractedly. He looked away, into space. "The bond that kept me here. It's gone."

All around, the moulers were disappearing. Bartimaeus's words appeared to be true.

"Nat must've broken it when he destroyed the Gate during its activation." Bartimaeus smiled slightly. "I don't have to stay here anymore. I'm free. The bonds of summoning are no more. The Gate destroyed it. Ptolemy destroyed it, just as he'd promised to."

Kitty winced as she slid slightly towards the hole. There was a pop, and she groaned: her arm had broken from the weight of Nathaniel.

"Bartimaeus," she whimpered. "Please. Stay. Help… we need you."

The djinni looked at her with an odd expression. He was contemplating – his eyes were wistful. He was leaving.

Then he grinned.

"Ah, what the hell," he said, reaching his head through the hole and grabbing onto Nathaniel with his teeth. The lion pulled, and Nathaniel landed awkwardly onto the ground. "You all broke my bonds. It's the least I can do."

Kitty sighed and closed her eyes, finding that at the moment, she did not care if the bonds of summoning had been broken. Nathaniel was safe. Bartimaeus had stayed. Makepeace was dead. The day was saved.

She had survived the end of the world.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes: **Really the chapter I've been waiting to write since this fic started. Yes, I know, I'm a tricky little devil - I hinted to character deaths when really there were only three, and none of the Trio died. The incident with Morris's hand has been foreshadowed since Chapter 18, and is even foreshadowed early on in his part: _"He was not moving along very quickly, but he figured that anything worth doing was worth doing well, or in his case it was not worth losing a hand trying to go fetch the blasted djinni_."

Just an example.

But the ending isn't sunshine and roses, definitely not. There are loose ends that have yet to be tied up (Bartimaeus still hasn't explained what happened with Ptolemy) and such.

And of course, how everyone deals with this new revelation: the liberation of the spirits.

**Next Chapter: **_Kingdom Come_

"'We're not promising you anything either, Mr. Devereaux. We can only ask you...'

The lights flickered again and the curtains were thrown open.

'Are you ready?'"


	22. Kingdom Come

Here it is, edited and all. For those of you that just want to get reading, skip ahead and do so. This note might get lengthy, because it's the last you'll hear from me.

Where to begin... Obviously, there are tons of people to thank, including (but not limited to): the fine folks at HPFF, whose never-ending assistance and unlimited kindness has gotten me through a lot of this; the folks over at Livejournal, such as Sandoz and Neva, and of course, the HPFF LJcrowd: Marisa, Julie, Missy, Arzu, and basically my entire friendslist (you know who you are!); Contrarian, whose tendency to take up too many fics at once helps keep me inspired, whose reviews are always introspective (and sometimes novel-lengthed), and whose conversations about reviewers, how fanfics caused the origin of the universe, and creative ways to get Book 3 have caused me to give in to the fact that, as she says, "I can confirm that we are the weirdest people ever."

You thought you were getting away, huh? Not yet. There's still another paragraph!

And next: Josh and Cameron, whose mere existence has reinforced my faith in males as writers and males as comedians; the HP freak known as Crispey, whose freakiness has really helped assure me that I'm not the only weirdo around here; swordsrock, whose obsessions over grammar have kept me on my toes and prevented me from getting a healthy amount of sleep; Mme. Grim, whose Academy for some reason makes me want to write; Oasis, Coldplay, and every other band on my Windows Media Player, for inspiring me to no end (seriously... they basically wrote this fic); and most of all, everyone who has reviewed this fic for giving their input. You all really don't know how much I cherish - er, value it.

If you're not listed here, don't worry. I'm sick and tired, so I forgot tons of people and didn't want to make this too long, but all of you really have helped make this fic possible. I know who you are, and so do you. Give yourself a good pat on the back.

And now, here it is... without further delay, the final chapter of _A Game of Chess_.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own trilogy, don't own song, bla, bla...

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
**Kingdom Come

"_**And be a simple kind of man;  
Be something you love and understand.  
Be a simple kind of man.  
Won't you do this for me son,  
If you can?"  
**_– _**Lynyrd Skynyrd's **"Simple Man"_

The hospital corridor was long and dark. Gloominess seemed to pour out from the walls, infecting all of those who walked down that forsaken hall. It was scarcely occupied, for after all, it was a magician's hospital. Magicians didn't usually get injured. They got killed. And when they did get injured, they would never own up to it.

Outside an intensive-care room, a commoner spat out his gum and squished it on the ground with the sole of his shoe.

It was his entire fault, of course. Thomas shouldn't have been there at all. He was only so motivated because _he'd_ pushed him, teased him. Thomas shouldn't be battling for his life, hooked up to a shiny machine meant for the wealthy.

Yasmin had always seen right through him. She'd always seen that he was too harsh, too distant. He was too reluctant to grow close. He was quite simply a bastard.

And Kitty had let him stay all along. She'd held out hope, if only because of his fervor for "the cause". She'd thought that he could change.

But now Thomas was hurt. And it was his fault.

The corners of his mouth tugged to the side uncomfortably and he continued on down the hall, hands stuffed in his pockets. Something glinted in the corner of his eye as he approached a corner. He turned to face it and scowled.

Elliot glared at his reflection for a second longer before turning the corner. Before long, he had vanished into the confines of the hospital, like a ghost that had never truly been there at all.

-

The doctor tilted his head to one side, and then to the other, as if he didn't exactly know what he was looking at – or he just didn't want to say it. He tutted under his breath and looked up.

"Fairly bad fracture you've got there, Ms. Jones," he said, putting down the sheet. "You're going to have to wear that sling for the next two weeks, at least. But if you follow your recovery plan you'll be in fighting shape –" he grinned to himself as if there were something funny about this "– in no time."

Kitty looked at him, not paying much attention. Her fingers twitched; there was so much to do, and she was wasting her time in here. "Sure. And where can I get my recovery plan?"

"I'll have my assistant get it to you by tomorrow," the doctor replied as he rolled backwards in his chair and to his desk. He stopped at the impatient look on her face. "Is there a problem with that?"

"No. I think I'd be staying anyway."

"Ah, yes, your friend." He shuffled some papers on his desk with the air of utmost importance, as doctors always did. "Mr. Mandrake. Well, I may not be his doctor – or team of doctors, rather, for Mr. Devereaux has deemed his recover of the most stupendous value to our country – but I'm sure he'll be back on his feet in no time."

"Right." She scratched the scab on her neck dully, having already gone through this same conversation with two doctors, three nurses, and an elderly man she'd met in the reception room. "So… am I free to go?"

He nodded. "You're free. And hide the sour face, please," he added as she hopped off of the bed. "You're in good hands. This is the best hospital in Europe, possibly the world."

"It's a magicians' hospital," said Kitty plainly, with underlying venom.

"Of course." The doctor looked away, no longer very interested in her. "It's a great honor for a group of commoners like yourselves to be here. You all must be _very_ good friends to young Mr. Mandrake."

"Don't worry, we are." Kitty did not offer him another glance as she walked out into the hall, glad to finally be out of that stuffy room. She'd been ready to scream, and she silently wondered how magicians dealt with their claustrophobia during hospital visits. Never mind those arrogant fools who ran the place. Although that would certainly make most of the government feel right at home.

She carried her arm lightly as she strode down the hall, confidence in her steps. If there was one thing that she liked about herself, it was the fact that she was always coolest when she was in an uncomfortable situation. And if being in an exclusively magicians' hospital wasn't an uncomfortable situation, she didn't know what was.

Bartimaeus… she needed to find Bartimaeus. He had said so much that she didn't understand, that she couldn't possibly understand. There were so many questions, and she knew that the djinni had some of the answers.

"Kitty?"

Kitty blinked. "Oh. Hello there, Katherine."

"Hello." The younger girl ran her fingers through her hair wearily: according to Yasmin, she'd barely slept at all during their stay in the building. "How're you doing?"

"Alright, considering the circumstances," said Kitty. "Have you seen Bartimaeus?"

Katherine laughed. "Fortunately, no. I'm not sure I could deal with any more of his sarcasm during a time like this." She scowled plaintively. "But Morris might know where he is. Magicians are usually pretty good at that kind of thing, knowing where slaves are and all."

"Yes. Right." Kitty coughed.

"We've made no progress with Devereaux, of course," Katherine continued bitterly. "One of his secretaries says that he won't see us without Mandrake. Very convenient of the twerp to go and get himself knocked out, too."

"Somehow I don't think it was his fault," replied Kitty, a bit more coldly than she had intended. She sighed. "He's already been out for five days, though, so he should be waking up anytime now."

"Won't do us any good until he does. Devereaux won't hear a word from us until he's up and running."

Kitty looked ahead reflectively as she readjusted her sling. "Maybe you're going about this the wrong way."

"Would you mind clarifying that?"

"You're playing by Devereaux's rules," she explained. "The ball's in his court. Of course he won't see you. You're a bunch of commoners. Why would he? We were terrorists, remember? We do things differently. We've got to show him that we've changed, but that we're still a force to be reckoned with."

"Hm," Katherine mumbled, eyes distant. Her head snapped up suddenly. "Thanks, Kitty. I'll keep it in mind."

Before she could say a word, Katherine had already turned the corner and was out of sight. Kitty shook her head and continued down the hall.

Now all she had to do was find Morris, assuming that he had any clue as to where Bartimaeus was. Somehow, Kitty doubted that he did. Bartimaeus had been appearing and reappearing as he pleased for the past few days, and would go for hours at a time without being spotted.

Maybe he'd returned to the Other Place already. He'd said something odd, that his bonds had been broken. That he didn't have to stay anymore.

Yet he had. Just another reason to find him.

"Kitty!"

She turned and grinned. "Morris."

Problem solved.

"How're you doing, my dear?" He made a sweeping gesture with his healthy hand into a lobby. "Please, come in! Currently my cohorts and I are engaging in a most excellent gamble of sport, in which – hey, Ffoukes, stop hogging the popcorn!"

The portly magician dropped it on the table, and Joel grabbed it greedily.

"There, that's better." He looked back to Kitty. "As I was saying, dearest Kitty, come and enjoy the festivities! We've even got some liquor refreshments!"

"No, you don't," said a security guard sitting in the corner. He belched. "I finished 'em off just now."

"Nonsense!" Ffoukes exclaimed. "I hid some in the back panel of the refrigerator. Hey, Jones, d'you like beer? 'Cause that's all we've got."

"And pop," Joel piped up.

"No, we don't, Yasmin stole those."

Morris looked at him, intrigued. "Really? I thought she stole those fitness drinks."

"What are you, stupid?" Ffoukes rolled his eyes. "She stole the pop. Clarice stole the fitness drinks."

"No, Clarice took the water," stated Joel, looking at the television. "Arty here gave some nurse down the hall the fitness drinks when he was trying to get her to go out on a date with him."

The security guard grinned stupidly and raised his empty bottle. "Aye, that I did!"

"Well, we _do_ have some juice," Ffoukes said. He looked at her consolingly, holding up a small carton.

"Wait a minute, I thought we gave those to those kids earlier today?"

"No, Joel, you dolt. We told those brats that Santa Clause wouldn't give them any presents this year if they kept bothering us."

"Yep," muttered the security guard. "Mind you, I felt kind of bad. One of those kids had a big bandage on his head."

"Right, anyway!" Joel turned around in his seat. "How's Thomas doing?"

"Dunno." Kitty's face darkened. In truth, the matter had been pushed from her mind as she had started trying to find Bartimaeus. "I'm going to go check on him later."

"Good. He and I have a little pact to keep, you know." Morris halted. "Would it be too bad for him to be drinking right after he got out of here?"

She shrugged, not really caring what the answer was. "I suppose that's a question for when he gets out of here. If he ever does."

"Ah, don't be such a downer!" Morris exclaimed. He glanced at her sling. "Nice piece of equipment you've got there. Itch much?"

"A ton," she confirmed.

"So does mine." He stuck out his arm, which abruptly ended right at his wrist. A pinned sleeve covered the stub, and he looked at it with disgust. "But the doctor was saying that they could make a prosthetic hand. Since they engineer them with magic, it'd be able to move just like a real hand. Or that's what he said, at least."

"That's… good." Morris was taking it all rather well. She assumed it was his personality; he never was very sad, or he didn't show it, at the very least. "That's good."

"Yeah," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly and looking at the television. "So, for what reason have you graced us with your beauty?"

She giggled despite herself. To his credit, Morris could make a girl who hated giggling do just that with his oddity. "I'm looking for Bartimaeus."

Morris shrugged. "Sorry. Haven't seen him around." He jutted his head towards the other guys. "Hey, have any of you all seen Bartimaeus recently?"

"Nah," said Joel, "he's off somewhere. Probably doing something important."

"Probably causing mayhem," Ffoukes corrected.

"Damn it," Kitty muttered to herself.

The technician looked at her apologetically. "Again, sorry. I'll keep an eye out for him, though."

"That would be nice."

"Then I'll do it," he said with a grin and a wink. "Anything for a pretty girl like you."

Arty raised his bottle desperately. "While you're busy keeping an eye out, could you go down to the liquor store and get us a few more of these? Wouldn't be a hassle or anything. I'd even let you have some!"

"Are you a pretty girl?"

"Um… yes?" the guard tried feebly.

"Not quite." Morris faced Kitty once more, a wry smirk on his face, and lowered his voice. "Speaking of you, how are you holding up? You know, with Nathaniel being out cold and everything."

Her eyes became thin slits, and she could tell that Morris knew that he was treading in perilous waters. "Why would I care about him?"

"Er…" He bit his lip. "Because you're a kind and caring person?"

"Since when? You were scared to death of me when we met!"

"Oh, that?" Morris waved his hand, dismissing the thought. "I'm just intimidated by beautiful women."

She grinned. "Nice try."

"I'm being totally honest! I'm sticking myself out on a limb here! Well, no, I've already done that," he added with a look at his handless arm. His voice quieted. "But really, I can tell. It's not hard to see, so I don't see why you're hiding it. You care. It's not a crime or anything."

"Morris –"

"I'll say no more," he said, raising up his hand in surrender. He gave her a meaningful look. "But I think that when he does wake up, that he'd want to know that you're okay."

"I don't think he'd be that concerned," she stated stiffly.

"That's what you think."

"Morris!" Kitty spun around, only to see Clarice. "Katherine wants you. All of you."

Morris looked at her with an odd expression. "Why?"

"Something's come up."

"And me?" asked Kitty.

"No," said Clarice, shaking her head. Her mouth twisted oddly, as if between a smile and a frown. "There was something else I had to tell you. I thought you might like to know."

"What?"

"He's awake."

"Who?"

Clarice stared at her blankly. "Mandrake."

-

It had been precisely five days, eight hours, and thirty-seven minutes since the Archway of Anubis had been destroyed when Rupert Devereaux woke up. It was early; the sun had not yet risen above the horizon. Instead, it was rather dark, and with a groggy mind he tore himself from his bed (needing much aid from his assistant) and began to dress on the fifth day of this exodus.

It wasn't he that had first applied that word to the tumultuous events that were taking place. Actually, it had been an under-minister, whose name he forgot at the present time. But although times were rapidly changing and the people of the Empire were being led into a new age, the exodus was almost over. Soon, the government itself would face a time of upheaval, and inevitably, they would have their very own Leviticus.

He'd showered and spent nearly thirty minutes dressing, until he finally decided to go without a tie. The commoners would need to see a leader that was more casual, more like them. Good leaders adapted to the times.

At noon, he had lunch with some minister from a foreign country, possibly Turkey. He did not quite remember, and the lunch had mainly consisted of two translators squabbling in the corner while the two beauracrats shot each other helpless looks over their pudding.

Then at one o'clock he set off for his temporary office at the hospital holding the group of young adults that were the focal point of every newspaper in the country, and possibly the world. Something had happened in that Tower – demons had just been disappearing recently, as if their bonds were broken. Summonings weren't answered. It was as if spirits had just up and left from the entire world.

Well, not entirely. Devices such as Elemental Spheres had not lost their punch. And there had been rumors of a demon hanging around that very hospital.

But that was just nonsense.

As he scribbled away at some all-too-important document that would be displayed before Parliament as the next all-too-important legislation (he had the faint idea that it had to do with birth control – that or telephone lines), there was a knock on his door. Devereaux looked up, relieved to be reprieved from his work for at least a few moments.

"Sir?" It was an under-minister. Not the exodus one, however.

He tried to remember the young man's name. "Yes, Petricks?"

"The doctors have news," said the under-minister, giving no indication that Devereaux had messed up his name. The Prime Minister sighed inwardly. "Mr. Mandrake is awake."

Devereaux nearly leapt from his chair with excitement. "Excellent! That is very, very good news!"

"They say you can see him whenever you're ready. He's already cleared to roam around the building, although they haven't cleared him to leave."

"Naturally," he said impatiently, "he's only just awoken."

This was wonderful. Maybe Mandrake would be able to clear things up. Namely, why his afrits had gone missing.

"And Mr. Mortensen wants to see you soon about the latest news from America," continued Petricks dully. "Apparently it's very important, sir."

"Blast it," muttered Devereaux under his breath. The war was a very boring and dreary subject at even the best of times. "Well, send him in at two. That's about fifteen minutes, isn't it?"

"Twenty-three minutes, sir."

"Close enough."

"Very well, sir. I shall send him in at two." Petricks bowed slightly with his head.

"Thank you, Petricks. You may leave now."

The door closed behind him and Devereaux sat down once more, casting a tired look at the window. The area around his office was crawling with bodyguards after the mysterious disappearance of the demons, and the outside area looked almost like a sea of black. Only at the absolutely livid protests of the doctors had most of the hospital been spared from these antics, although there were strict bag checks at all entrances.

He was busy signing the bill when, very suddenly, the curtains drew themselves together and the lights went off.

Devereaux stared, blinked, and licked his lips. It was not perfectly dark, but it was close enough. No doubt security would have a fit over this.

"Hello, Prime Minister Devereaux," came a voice from the door, which he noticed had ever so sneakily opened without a sound. It clicked shut within seconds. "I see you are hard at work."

"Yes, of course," he said dryly. "I _am_ quite possibly the most powerful man in the world, aren't I?"

"Right now, maybe." It was someone different, a male this time. "But I'm not so sure how long that'll hold up."

Devereaux tapped his pen against the desk, annoyed. "Very funny. Now, I am going to have to call my guards to escort you from the premises. Security!"

No one answered.

"It's no use," said a different voice. "To them, you appear to be working diligently through open curtains. Your defenses were poor, obviously, although I guess that could be attributed to your temporary office setting. It only took me a few minutes' worth of work to cast a proper Illusion, and I'm not that great with magic, either. Of course, I had a few distractions. And the lights were easy."

Someone snapped, and the lights turned on once more. Seven individuals stood before him: three women and four men. Two of the men looked strangely familiar – one was nursing a handless arm while the other, whom he vaguely recognized as a minister in Mandrake's department, looked rather bored.

"There," said the one-handed man, "that's better."

"Stop this insolence at once!" Devereaux exclaimed, thrusting out of his seat. "If you don't stop soon, I'll get my guards –"

"Shut it, Devereaux," said one of the men with irritation. Bags hung under his eyes, and he looked tired. "Frankly, we really don't care what you have to say."

The Prime Minister's mouth closed instantly.

"There we go." A young girl, probably in her mid-teens, stepped forward. "Now, as we're all aware, the demons have abandoned this world. Their bonds have been broken, or at least that's what it seems like. You know what this means."

Devereaux sneered in spite of himself. "It's going to be a hell of a lot harder to build that bridge that Pinn's been griping about, for one."

"Magicians are weak," continued the girl, ignoring his comments. "Commoners have already realized this, or are about to. Soon they'll be complaining, wanting their fair share. What're you going to do then?"

"The Night Police –"

"You only have so many wolves." She smiled. "And I have a feeling this is going to be a widespread revolution."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"

"Probably," a different girl responded. "But it's not like there's anything you can do about it."

"Mr. Devereaux, we're giving you a chance," said the first girl, advancing forward. He took a step backwards instinctively and braced one hand against the back wall. "You can avoid this. You can preempt it. It's going to happen eventually. By extending the offer to them before they revolt, you can salvage your career. Magicians and commoners are going to have to learn how to coexist, and if you make the first move, you can make it a lot easier."

He swallowed. Her words weren't something he hadn't thought of. Without demons, they were crippled, barely any more than petty conjurers.

"I'll think about it," he said firmly. "I'm not promising you anything."

"We're not promising you anything either, Mr. Devereaux. We can only ask you…"

The lights flickered again and the curtains were thrown open.

"Are you ready?"

The voice rung out across the room, but they were already gone.

He gripped his chest, breathing deeply, and sat back down in his chair. That had been a most disconcerting confrontation. He definitely needed to talk to security about that one.

As he settled in once more, a knock came from his door and Petricks's head poked in the room.

"Sir, it's two," he stated. "Mr. Mortensen is here to see you. Shall I send him in?"

"Yes," replied Devereaux, shuffling his papers importantly in front of him and running a hand through what little hair he had left. "Yes. I'm ready."

He neglected to mention that he wasn't really speaking to Petricks at all.

-

The first thing to return was the smell, that obsessively clean, lemony smell of hospitals and government buildings. The traces in the air of the citrus cleaner stung the inside of his nostrils, and he squirmed. He could feel the unfamiliar cloth on his body, and taste the sweat in his mouth. A nasal buzz from somewhere above him signaled the recovery of his hearing, and it wasn't long before he strained, squirmed, and finally opened his eyes.

At first, everything just appeared white. The amount of it around him was blinding; possibly he had, as some said, passed on?

Something beeped beside him, and he instantly knew that it was keeping track of his heartbeat.

So much for the whole death idea.

A tad bitter that he had not died to add to the dramatic effect of the battle, he strained to get up. His muscles were weak, as if weighed down by some invisible force.

Someone chuckled above him.

"Having trouble?"

He turned his head (with much effort – he was breathing sharply by the time he was done) and raised his eyebrows, hoping to give off the impression that he was not surprised at all. Partially a lie, but you had to give a little every now and then, he supposed.

"Some slight annoyances, yes," he said. "Well, how are you, Bartimaeus?"

The Egyptian boy laughed from his perch on the windowsill. "Better than I've been in five millennia!"

"Really?" This did catch Nathaniel quite off-guard, and only after several seconds had passed did he remember to hide his emotions. "I mean, why is that?"

"Oh, you know," replied the boy carelessly. He waved his hand to the side and grinned. "We all have our good days."

"Well, I'm afraid that I'm not having a good day at all," Nathaniel retorted a bit irritably. "This ugly room is going to pester me to wit's end. Could you open the shades and give us some sunlight?"

Bartimaeus looked behind him to the window, turned back, and smirked.

"No."

Nathaniel deadpanned. "Er, what?"

"Nah," he continued, "I don't really feel like it. I kind of like it as it is."

He sneered at him smugly.

"What're you going to do? _Punish me?_"

"Bartimaeus –"

"Confused, Nat? Wondering where my newly-found arrogance has come from?"

Amidst his confusion, Nathaniel frowned. "Now, now, Bartimaeus, I wouldn't exactly say 'newly-found'. You've had it for quite some time, if you didn't notice."

Bartimaeus ignored him. "The truth is, Nathaniel, you can't make me do anything anymore! You could try, but it wouldn't work! You have no power over me anymore!"

"Bartimaeus…" Nathaniel trailed off. His head ached; he could not wrap his mind around it, not now. "What in Gladstone's name are you talking about?"

The djinni leapt across the room with sudden gusto, landed near the door, and did a dance-like twirl.

"I'm free!" he cried. "As free as a serial killer who's gotten a mistrial! As free as a –"

"Hold on," interjected Nathaniel. "_What?_"

"Oh, I forgot, you were too busy collapsing to notice." Bartimaeus spun a thermometer in his hands flippantly. "Well, here's the deal: while you were doing your whole saving the world routine, you destroyed the Gate."

"Obviously."

"Let me finish, would you? So, you destroyed the Gate while it was activating. It was focusing the bonds between the two worlds in one area, but then you shattered it. Do you have any idea what that did?"

"Er…"

"It completely destroyed the bonds!" Bartimaeus tilted his head to the side. "Or at least that's my guess. It was all concentrated in one area, in the Gate, but then you destroyed it with the Staff!"

"So there's no connection at all between the two worlds anymore?" Nathaniel questioned, head spinning.

"Well, I'm not sure," admitted Bartimaeus as he leaned back against the wall. "I think there still is some bond there – in fact, I'm quite certain, come to think of it, as I've felt the Other Place pulling me back to it recently. What I think happened is that all of the ties that enable magicians to enslave spirits were focused within the Gate. Those, after all, were the only ties that would've been useful in the creation of the Gate as a mass summoning tool. It was a complete bond, too: there was a human element to it and a spirit element. Both were inside the Gate."

Nathaniel bit his lip. "So there _is_ a connection… but magicians no longer have any power over spirits anymore?"

"Nope."

"And you're sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh, wonderful," Nathaniel said bitterly. "Parliament will be thrilled."

"Not really." Bartimaeus flung the thermometer into the air and caught it deftly with his fingertips. "They're quite perplexed, to tell the truth."

"As am I."

"What don't you understand about it?" asked the djinni. "That Gate was possibly the most powerful thing in this world. It had the power to focus the bonds of the two worlds into one artifact, the bonds that gave magicians power over spirits. That was the nature of it – it was meant to concentrate those bonds so insane quantities of spirits could be summoned at once. And then you came along and destroyed the Gate while all of the bonds resided within it."

Nathaniel smiled weakly. "I'm going to have one hell of a time explaining that to Devereaux."

"I don't see what the big fuss is all about. Don't you see? Devereaux is weak now. Your government is weak. They have no power over you anymore. The dream's coming true, isn't it? Kitty's dream? Commoners have a chance now. They're already up in arms about it, or are about to be. It's only a matter of time before they realize that magicians are few and far between, and without their slaves."

A knock on the door stopped him from elaborating, and the boy chuckled.

"That'll be the nurse," he stated, smirk playing on his lips. "A real looker, too. I'm sure darling Kitty will have a fit."

He winked before disappearing, a cloud of smoke in his place. The cloud crept up into the ventilation system and out of the room, and Nathaniel stared after it for a few moments before the nurse's voice startled him out of his reprieve.

"Hello? May I come in?"

Nathaniel sighed. "Yes."

The door swung open and a curvy blonde strolled in, hips swaying from side to side in a mesmerizing motion. Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

"Doc says that you need a shot," said the nurse as she pulled a needle from a tray and began filling it with a dark blue liquid, muttering to herself. "Of course, he can't give it, can he? Linda has to get it. After all, Linda's already underpaid. Why not just go ahead and give her more work?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Um, I'm ready."

"Of course you are," said the nurse absent-mindedly. She grabbed his arm, twisted it to the side, and in one fluent motion stuck the needle into him. He twitched in pain and watched as the liquid was inserted into him. "There we go. In, oh, five seconds or so you should feel a kick, like your first time on cocaine or something. Not that I'd know anything about that."

Surprisingly, she was right. He bolted upwards in his bed to a sitting position, the pain in his muscles forgotten to some degree.

"There we go," she muttered. She yanked the needle from his arm and made a motion with her hand to the side. "In a few minutes, you should be up to going out and about thanks to this little wonder-drug. There is a wheelchair near the door that you must use if you do take the opportunity to get up and about. Don't try to walk – your leg is severely injured, you suffered a minor concussion, and also some minor damage to your vertebrae. Just call me for assistance when you wish to get in it. The Lord knows it's just another job they don't pay me for."

She threw the needle into the trash bin and headed to the door before stopping.

"Oh, and I think you have a visitor. A lady friend, perhaps?"

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively before exiting out through the doorway. He could hear her high heels clicking against the floor for a few moments before they eventually faded away.

Nathaniel looked at the door expectantly.

Seconds passed.

The clock ticked in the background.

Tick. Tock.

And finally, a pretty face jutted through the doorway. Brown eyes peered into the room alertly, and a small smile played on the face's features. A girl stepped into the room, carrying her arm in a sling, and approached his bed warily.

"Am I interrupting anything?" she inquired politely.

"Actually, yes," said Nathaniel with a wry smirk. "I was having a long and fruitful conversation with myself before you came barging in."

"Oh, really?" She grinned and sat down in a chair near the wall. "What were you talking about?"

Nathaniel shrugged slightly and twisted the knob on the side of the bed. It tilted upwards until it resembled a recliner, and he leant back against it. "You know, the usual. Politics. Money. Food."

"Of course."

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Kitty," he stated monotonously, as if he were giving a presentation to Parliament. "I hadn't heard about your condition."

"I escaped with only a few nicks," she replied. A stony look came onto her face. "Others… were not so fortunate."

"Excuse me?"

"Jack and Glen are dead, as is Makepeace." Kitty fiddled with the straps on her sling uninterestedly. "Thomas is in intensive care. Morris lost a hand. Oh, and I'm pretty sure Elliot's mental health is in danger. He feels guilty about Thomas, you know."

Nathaniel stared at her blankly. It was too much to comprehend at once, far too much.

"So… two of us are dead?"

"Yes. And one's in intensive care and another lost a hand. And –"

"Elliot's on the road to insanity," he finished.

"Yes."

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. Damned scratchy pillows. "That's not too bad, is it? Especially when you consider that we all expected to die."

"Yes, not too bad." Kitty, however, did not seem very agreeable – rather, her voice was bitter. "And just so you know, you weren't too far from death yourself."

"What?"

"That's how I got this," she said, gesturing to the sling. "Saving your sorry arse."

"Er…"

"And that's not all. You also completely –"

"Completely destroyed the bonds of slavery that bound spirits," he interrupted. "I know. Bartimaeus dropped by a few minutes ago. He was rather giddy about it."

"Yes, well, anyway." Kitty pushed a strand of hair from her face and gave him an unreadable look. "So, the Archway – or Gate – shattered and you passed out. Makepeace's back broke all of a sudden and he died right then and there; you were right about the bond between the artifact and the magician. Where the Archway had stood all of these cracks started appearing in the floor, probably from the force of its destruction. Then a hole formed in the floor and on all of the floors below, like the magical output had formed a chasm or something."

"It was destroying anything solid," said Nathaniel quietly. "It was reacting to the environment. When something as powerful as that is destroyed, there's a mass energy wave. That wave just happened to channel into the infrastructure of the building, probably due to all of the iron – opposites attract, do they not? It's my guess that if you had been touching the Archway it would have channeled its energy through you. You'd be dead, of course."

She stared at him coolly. "But I'm not. And neither are you. Your body was about to fall into the hole, but I grabbed onto you with my arm and tried to hold on. My arm broke, and I called to Bartimaeus for help. Then he realized that his bonds were broken."

"And…"

"He was thinking about leaving. He knew he could. But then he just kind of grinned and grabbed onto you and hoisted you up."

Nathaniel's eyebrows raised in doubt. "Bartimaeus chose to stay and save my life rather than leave?"

"You act as if it's not possible," commented Kitty, her voice dangerously low.

"Possible," he said dryly. "But from my experiences with Bartimaeus, very improbable."

"Don't get too hung up on it. He mentioned something about repaying you for breaking his bonds. It was a no-lose situation for him."

"I suppose so." He fiddled with his bedsheets and bit his lip. "Well, thanks for… you know."

"Saving your life?"

"Yes. That." He glanced at her sling and cringed. "And sorry about the, er, inconvenience."

Kitty lightened up slightly to his surprise. "It's alright. After all, you saved my life, too. I should be thanking you."

"I assure you that it is not necessary."

"But I'm going to do it anyway," she said simply, smiling at him. "Thank _you_, Nathaniel, for saving _my_ life."

"You're welcome," Nathaniel responded with a frown. "But really, you didn't have to do it."

"I know. But I figure that you thanked me, so I might as well thank you."

"Yes. Right." He straightened upwards and craned his neck. It ached something terrible (the nurse _had_ said something about vertebrae damage, but that was something he could discuss later with the doctor) and he grimaced as he motioned towards the wheelchair by the door. "Could you wheel that over here? I don't fancy staying in this room for much longer."

"Are you sure that you should be up and about?"

"It seems that the doctors have cleared me, but we all know how much their opinion is worth. Still, I fear I just will have to risk permanent damage if only to get out of this place. I bet the cafeteria is full of life around now."

Kitty didn't reply, instead optioning to merely shake her head and retrieve the chair. Nathaniel looked at it hesitantly before frowning.

"Er, right. Would you mind giving me a hand? I don't really want to call the nurse."

"Alright," said Kitty, "but I've only got one hand."

"I know."

With much effort and a bit of swearing, they finally got him seated in the wheelchair. True, he did have a few more bruises on him than he had beforehand, but it was no matter.

He reached for the wheels, but her hand on his stopped him. "Don't worry," she said, "I'll push you."

"Yeah, thanks."

Without warning the chair sped forward and out of the room. It swerved into the hall, and Nathaniel could have sworn that it had nearly fallen over from the force of the turn. Kitty pushed him quickly from behind in a wave-like pattern, and he clutched tightly to the wheelchair.

"You can slow down if you'd like," he said. "Really, I'm in no hurry."

"Come on, live a little."

"You see, that's the problem." He winced as they just nearly missed a doctor. "I'm afraid that with your handling, I may not be living much longer."

Kitty tutted impatiently behind him as the doctor yelled an obscenity at them. "Well, it's just a _little_ difficult to steer this thing with one hand."

"Good point."

After a few more swerves and twirls, the cafeteria finally came into view. Thankfully, the doors were open – Nathaniel didn't even want to think about what an adventure opening the doors would be.

Kitty nudged two chairs aside at a nearby table and put his in their place. He sighed with relief, glad that at last he was still.

"What do you want?" she asked. "I don't really want to try to push you through that line."

"Just a glass of water."

"Are you sure that –"

"Positive."

"Okay," she muttered as she walked off to the back of the line. He smiled at her expression, one of compete and utter boredom.

It wasn't a long wait at all, and in only a few minutes, Kitty was sitting down across from him. She had a tray full of various foods, and his single glass of water looked rather pathetic in comparison.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," she said as she spread butter across a slice of toast. "Haven't eaten since yesterday."

"That would explain things." He coughed and took a sip of his water. "So, what happened after I passed out?"

Kitty's lips pursed uncharacteristically. "Which time?"

"The second."

"Bartimaeus went for help," she answered through mouthfuls of pasta. "The Night Police came, followed by Devereaux himself."

"And you weren't arrested?"

"He thought about it," Kitty said truthfully. "But after Ffoukes and Bartimaeus talked to him, he decided not to. I was surprised that he believed us. I guess the sight of the destroyed Archway and the disappearance of his slaves rattled him."

"Yes," Nathaniel commented as he brought the glass to his lips again, "the government had been looking for that for a while now."

"Apparently." Kitty chuckled to herself. "Devereaux ordered that no one leaked out information of the event. He wanted complete privacy until he understood what was going on. Naturally, it dominated the headlines of all the major newspapers the next day."

"Naturally," he agreed with a smile. The glass hovered in midair, only centimeters from his lips. "And what happened after I passed out the first time?"

Kitty gazed at her tray determinedly. "I held onto the vulture long enough to destroy it, but it threw me onto Makepeace's platform. The others got through Makepeace's test, and Morris got the Staff from the vaults."

"Oh." He was about to take a drink from the glass when Kitty dropped her fork onto her tray. It clattered noisily on the plastic, though she made no movement.

"And I kissed you."

Nathaniel's hand jerked upward instantaneously, and as a result the water he had been ready to drink instead splashed up into his face. He coughed violently and set the glass down unstably.

"Napkin?" Kitty offered dryly.

"Thank you," he said, taking it out of her hands. He wiped his cheeks laboriously and made a face. "But let me get this straight: you kissed me?"

"I don't even know why," she stated defensively, staring at the lunch line. "I was being stupid. It was in the heat of battle and I was distressed and you'd just gotten hit and –"

She stopped abruptly, and he grinned despite himself. Her face was scrunched up not in embarrassment, but something else: defiance, maybe? Or possibly even anger? He didn't quite know, yet it was then that he really recognized that she was astoundingly pretty, even in the current circumstance.

He did not know what to do, so he took a gamble. His hand found hers and grabbed it lightly, and she looked to him, her eyes contorted into a bemused glare. He knew it was an act of risk, and quite possibly even risqué, but it was time that he stopped thinking and, for once, started following his desires.

"Aren't you… you know…" Kitty twitched and continued. "Ashamed?"

"Not particularly," he admitted with unnatural serenity. His heart was pounding against his chest and his pulse was racing, but he could not help but love every second of it. He was taking risks and not looking back – was this why Kitty had joined the Resistance, to feel that sense of recklessness? "Disappointed, more like."

"Disappointed?"

Nathaniel grinned and leaned in closer, until he was whispering conspiratorially into her ear.

"Next time, I'd prefer to be conscious."

She looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and smiled slightly.

"Well…"

Kitty then leaned next to his ear and lowered her voice, as he had only seconds before. Strands of her hair tickled his face, and her moist breath on his skin made him shiver. So this was what it felt like, he mused, to defy logic, to rebel against everything.

"_That_," she muttered, "can be arranged."

-

Freedom was a fickle thing. I'd only been free for a few days, yet still I longed to get away. It had taken all of my self-control to stay even within the country as I waited for the boy to wake up. And then, of course, when he had, I needed to wait a little longer for him to even get his wits about him.

Psht. Humans were weak.

So, as I drifted in the hospital's ventilation system (let me tell you, the dust was murder), I bored quickly. It was then that my mind began to wander: I worked out math problems, played tic-tac-toe against myself – anything to pass the time. I even analyzed the depths of the human mind using my vast knowledge of psychology, but alas, that took less than ten seconds.

It was after a stalemate in a dull game of chess against myself that I dared to poke my gaseous head into Nathaniel's room. I certainly didn't want to see anything indecent if the nurse was checking his valuables, which would have been traumatizing for both him and myself. To my relief, the room was empty.

The cloud of smoke twisted and turned until it solidified into the appearance of a lion. The lion crept out of the room and into the hallway, where an oblivious doctor consoling an unfortunate patient.

"Excuse me," I said, "do any of you know where John Mandrake went?"

The patient shrieked and the doctor's face became deathly pale. I rolled my eyes.

"I - I believe he's in the c-cafeteria," stuttered the doctor fearfully.

I bowed my head slightly in gratitude. "Thanks."

All in all, it was much quicker to traverse the halls as a lion than it would've been as a human. Sure, guards made movements for their guns and nurses squealed, but that didn't hinder me. Within seconds I was standing outside the cafeteria, having effectively cleared the hallways of innocent bystanders, and it was at this point that I decided that it would be a good idea to change forms.

Where the lion had been, the proud form of Ptolemy materialized, and with my new guise in place, I slipped into the room.

It wasn't hard to spot Nathaniel. At a nearby table he and Kitty were leaned close, probably whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. Quietly, I made a most clandestine approach to the two. I crouched low behind Kitty and waited. She whispered something to him, and I knew that I had my window of opportunity.

I burst upwards and Nathaniel shot backwards. Kitty started to the side, as if trying to escape, and I grinned at the two idiots.

"Boo!"

My timing had been perfect, but Nathaniel merely shot me an irritable glance.

"Bartimaeus," he said. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Quite some surprise, too, if your reaction was anything to go by." I spun Kitty's fork with my fingertips and flicked it into the air. It landed in her salad, precisely where I had been aiming. "You nearly jumped out of your wheelchair." I stopped. "Hey, does this mean I can call you Wheels now?"

"No." He ran his hand through his hair obsessively before settling down and taking a deep breath. "Well, Bartimaeus, I suppose I should dismiss you now."

"No need," I said. "I can leave whenever I please."

Kitty's eyes narrowed. "Then why haven't you?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wanted to stick around to have a proper chat with you all before I left, maybe impart some more wisdom unto your puny, little brains."

"Ah." Nathaniel smirked at me. "I see."

"So," I said, kicking my feet up on the table and putting my hands behind my head, "what would you like to know? Anything? There's too much for any of you to possibly take in up here –" I pointed to my head importantly "– but you could learn a few things."

Nathaniel was about to say something, probably something snippy, no doubt, when Kitty cut him off.

"Ptolemy," she said plainly (devoid of any snippiness, I might add).

I stared at her. "Pardon?"

"Ptolemy," she repeated. Her eyes avoided me, and instead her sling became of particular interest to her. "You said he died."

"Of course Ptolemy died," snorted Nathaniel. "Everyone knows that. He died shortly after writing several books on spirits. That's actually how I found Bartimaeus. He was one of the lesser servants of Ptolemy."

"One of the _lesser_ servants!" I gawked at him. "The nerve! What books fed you this nonsense?"

"Back on topic," said Kitty in a loud voice, "who is Ptolemy and why did he die?"

I shot her a meaningful look, but she just shook her head. I, in turn, swore.

"You know, I wasn't sure of all the facts until just recently." I laughed darkly. "But after hearing Makepeace describe the Gate, it was simple. All I had to do was connect the dots."

The pair was silent for quite possibly the first time in recorded history. My luck.

"Ptolemy gained my trust when he summoned me without using protective clauses," I continued. "I was stunned, I'll admit – stunned enough to actually go along with the idea. Over a period of time, I, along with many other spirits, grew attached to the kid, although he clearly liked me best, if I do say so myself. He was not a cruel master – far from it. He was a great magician, and became well known across Egypt. He would advocate the liberation of spirits to the commoners of the land, which I believe ultimately led to his death.

"Apparently, his uncle, the pharaoh, and his priests had been working on a weapon: the Archway of Anubis, or as I call it, Ptolemy's Gate. It was an ingenious design, honestly. They ran veins of crystal throughout a stone arch, for crystal is somewhat of the opposite of silver. It conducts magic, so of course it would help summon many spirits at once. They only needed to sacrifice a human to complete the bond between the two worlds. One night, Ptolemy went to request of his uncle the destruction of the Archway. I accompanied him and saw it happen. Ptolemy was sacrificed; he was killed and his essence was trapped within the Gate. And needless to say you know the rest of the story."

I think my uncharacteristically serious tale caught them off-guard. Nathaniel scratched his neck absent-mindedly while Kitty poked her salad with her fork.

"Then that's who you are right now?" asked Kitty. "I mean, _you're _Ptolemy."

"Before he died, yes. It's a sign of respect."

"Well," Nathaniel said in a high voice, "Ptolemy should be happy. Thanks to his Gate, spirits are now free."

"Yes, I suppose it is a bit ironic, isn't it?"

"A bit inconvenient, too," he mumbled irritably.

"Ah, you'll get over it," I said, waving my hand to dismiss the notion. Truth be told, I was quite glad for a change of subject. "You know, magicians used to do magic on their own. Not much, mind you – they've always been lazy – but they weren't so dependent on long-suffering djinn like myself. Magicians have forgotten that they, too, can do magic as summoning has become so popular."

Nathaniel sighed. "Still, magicians aren't nearly as proficient at magic as djinn are."

"I'm sure you'll live."

"I certainly hope so."

I clapped my hands together and sat up in my chair. "So, what comes next for you, Nat? The government's a mess, there are still loose ends – what're you to do?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I imagine Farrar still hasn't been captured."

"I was thinking of going to America,' said Kitty quietly. His head shot toward her. "Maybe. If I can't change the government here, then maybe we could start over fresh there."

"Yeah," Nathaniel agreed enthusiastically. "That's a good fallback."

"See? Using your heads already!" I slapped Kitty's shoulder happily, beaming at her. "You'll be fine without me!"

"Yes." Nathaniel looked away to the lunch line and frowned (he was probably starving, of course). "So this will be the last time we see you?"

So much for that whole starving theory. Looked like he was just getting a bit nostalgic.

"Well, if that's how it's going to be, then sure," I said. "If you really don't want to give me a call every now and then – I would've thought that at the very least you two would be begging me to baby-sit."

"How're we supposed to 'give you a call'?" he snapped. "The bonds between the worlds have been broken."

"Oh, really? When?"

Nathaniel stared at me. "Er, that's what you said…"

"No, the bonds of _summoning_ have been broken," I corrected. "I can still feel my bond to the Other Place, and thus I know that the bond between the two worlds is not broken. The bonds of summoning, yes, for that is what the Gate used, and what you destroyed."

"So…"

"If you try to summon me, a portal between the two worlds will open since a bond still exists," I explained, careful to take it slow so that they understood. Humans always needed things explained slowly, or else they'd get irritable and go start wars over miscommunications. "The bonds of summoning meant that I was pulled through it automatically. However, now, that portal exists, and I may choose to go through it if I please."

He scowled. "Sounds a bit iffy to me."

"You'll see when you try it, won't you?" I stood up abruptly and sighed. "Well, I think it is almost time for me to leave. Anything you'd like to ask me before I go?"

"Makepeace said something," Nathaniel stated. "He started talking about a Trinity."

I looked at him, perplexed for once. "Sorry. I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"Never mind," he muttered. "I'll study it later."

"Anything else?"

They shook their sorry, little heads and I smiled.

"Good." I rolled up my sleeves and bowed slightly. "Now then, this has been great fun. And of course, I am in your debt eternally for breaking my bonds."

"Too right you are," Nathaniel muttered.

I ruffled his hair affectionately. "Aw, Nat, you always were a sore loser. But you weren't a _horrid_ master, so I forgive you for your poor sportsmanship."

Nathaniel wore a stiff expression, but I could almost catch a smile breaking upon his face.

"I am grateful for your forbearance," he said mockingly.

"I know you are." I turned to Kitty. "And you! Well, you've made things interesting, for sure. Your acceptance – or plain naivete – really has warmed an old djinni's heart of stone."

"I love you, too, Bartimaeus," laughed Kitty.

I took a step back and looked at them appraisingly. They looked comfortable in their skins for the first time in recent memory, and I knew something had changed. They had found themselves – or really, they had just found each other. I'm a hopeless romantic, I know.

"Kitty Jones, Nathaniel – I must bid you farewell. Call upon me if the need arises – although I must warn you, I refuse to do laundry or change diapers. Otherwise, feel free to give me a ring."

I made a sweeping bow before straightening up and looking Nathaniel in the eyes.

"Goodbye, Nat," I said.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and bowed his head to me, also.

"Goodbye, Bartimaeus."

I cut my ties with the human world once more and slowly faded away before their eyes. As I left, I could've sworn that I caught Nathaniel rubbing his eyes stubbornly – a stray piece of dust had probably flown into them.

The cafeteria and then the hospital gradually disappeared from view as I felt the Other Place reclaiming me. I acquiesced to its call, and I left the mortal world to my home. I'd never thought much of this world, but I hadn't lied to Nathaniel and Kitty: I knew they'd be fine without me. They had their problems, sure, but then again, they had each other.

Farrar was on the loose, war raged in America, and the world's greatest empire lay in shambles, yet still I found myself surrendering myself to this strange and particular notion that, for once, everything was as it should be.


End file.
